Mittens

Mittens — you only need to say the word
& I will come, I will follow
to the end of every shady forest // every
lonely meadow of madness
along the lark-lit pastures of your past
— I will walk by your side [say it!]

Say it, and I will weave it: the love bound
by one thread — over and over hands
tied to no gilded parachutes [say it!]

Our tracks to be, thoughts permeate
like hands walking in blossom beach sand
mumbling through a grandmother’s toil
and threads that binds the clouds to us

Mittens — you only need to say the word
& I will follow
like a sheep
to sleep
beside you [say it!]

Siphõn Dream

Their disappointment begun
Upon the fair realisation
That the fields of Elysian
Needed constant mending

There was to be no holiday
To follow the life of lies
Where the uneven elders
Kept the flame hidden afar

Gas, petrol, fumes to fuel
The lawn mowing monster
Needed to weed out the rules
The faun of Lyra possessed

Oh, Librarian with no books
Like scholars with a mind free
To roam the roads less wandered
Towards the end of another dream

Betrayal of no truth lingered
Longer than the care would wait
For the Child to be, to become
Like the prophecy declared — at ease

Their disappointment begun
Upon the right and proper remembrance
That the pastures of the divine
Require continuous repairs.

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