The Caravan of Man
Unhinged at last,
so fast,the flight of parsley
colored parrots
atop the palace walls
and halls
where falcons fall
from azure skies
with cries
still throbbing
in your throat.
Across the moat,
dark lodgers scan
the plains.
A lilting tune remains
with vague allusions
to a love long gone.
A famous fascination
with a starlight harmony.
A tale of stallions
wildly racing 'cross the moon
hooves like silver knives
to slice across
the flawed and scattered stars.......
The night is ours....
a Gypsy Caravan,
poor decrepid beast,
a broken spine of
wagons full of odd
imported dreams,
a calvary of fools.....
and we go swaying past
at last,
the fools brigade
weaves on beyond the
quiet glade.....
and in the crushed blue
flowers of our trail,
the irridescent beetles
scurry by,
their grass roots religion
hushed,
yet noted by the ever hungry owl
who loudly scolds
the galaxy and Man...........
because he can.
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