Dawn

The Drizzle Hung, Pitting The Hoar Frost, Like A Virgins Tears Behind Her Captors Veil.
A Baby Rabbit Hung Lifeless In A Crude Snare.
Not A Single Bird Song To Welcome This Day To Life.
A Blinded Pony Stood By, Its Flanks Tattooed By Air Pellets,
Intricate Patterns Woven As Relaxation By The New Intelligencia.
Tarant, Surveyed The Landscape.

He Followed The Bloody Footsteps Across The Ghost, White Fields,
Towards His Friend.
Eventually He Found The Pyre, A Few Whips Of Smoke Leaked,
Apologetically Up And Drifted, Ashamedly Away.
Ashes Blushed

They Had All Left, Collective Ignorance Sated.
He Had Been Removed; Thought Again Was Purified, Sterile, Clean.
More Importantly He Was Gone …………… No More.
Tarant Thought Long And Hard About Weeping.
Instead A Long Deep Smile Left His Stomach, Moved Through Him,

It Gently Spilled Into His Lungs, And Burnt Across His Heart.
He Moved Forward And Plunged His Hands Into The Embers.
The Laugh Reached His Lips Long Before The Heat Burned His Skin.
On Into The Morning Air,
The Laugh Spiralled Up And Away, Into The Distance.
He Had Found It. He Had Found The Ring

More Shayari by Paul Barnacle
01 Sep 2008 No Comment 1

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