Dark Room On Paper

The good witch is still trying hard to collect the future Nostalgic and post-modern she fondles her crystal ball With soft hands she embraces Gaia and its sepia hue Oblivious to oblivion she attempts to elude the inevitable A monochrome reminder of the future’s soft calling If the earth was flat warriors would fall of the edges But her grip remains an illusion of human endeavour And yet the photographer’s lens refuses acceptance 'My paradigm is one of lingering hope' he seems to allude The voice of a renegade artist while the shutter is closed The mind wanders along fantasy’s perambulating soul Blends out a scream shot phases into caring surrender Of a world not quite forgotten in hearts of compassion Tables need turning and sheets hold fragrance of love Flickering light embraces translucent impermanence Its not rocket science to kindle an ephemeral candle With astronauts on the moon and apocalyptic star wars Prophesy’s calling however resigns to a parallel universe In which the dark ages have come to haunt humankind Clairvoyants see photophiles show and the poet must write 29th February 2020