Lulin

 

 

If I meet myself coming back,

I’ll scrap, till death takes hold

Another innocent,

For this world, is done.

 

     Nothing more is wanted,

Too afraid of days where the

Little granted is always tired,

Tarnished, spoilt before.

 

            Haunted by two steps

Ahead the dead are stalking,

Keeping clothes reserved from

Jumble sales, my mind

Distinct in open view – so tired

Of every retrograde,

Tired of tending to a love

That fades, with the passing

Of her life.

 

            Take me home to

Planet new, take me home

Where clogs of clowns are

Discarded, where hounds of

Children cursed by flies and

Lords alike, no longer dish

Out pain.

 

If I meet myself coming back,

I’ll hoist a roger, take on board

A rescue, plot a course for

Desert discs, so I be hurt no

     More.

 

            But if, if my loving liege

Be free from every curse,

We’ll leave this gaol together,

Sail exotic ship through space,

A universe of love and light,

Cradled in a peace.

 

Michael J Waite 0142hrs Tuesday the seventeenth of February 2009