A sea breeze tickles;
Under the bright street lights,
A dog, stretches and scraps.
Memories of drizzles,
Of thunders, of storms,
Some of nature, some within.
The bright yellow of a laburnum,
The promiscuous flames of the forest,
And those faded plastic roses-
That tell tales of summers gone by,
Of winters that never were,
But for that muffler, lying forgotten,
In a moth ball filled corner,
Between old pillows and sheets,
From times without a colour TV.
School day mornings,
Of emulsifying prayers,
Told rote by a hapless generation,
Caught in times, forbidden,
Hoping to rub away the marks
Of religion, belief- reluctance,
To accept anything taught
By people who exchanged roses,
And could not freight
Romance of a distant culture,
Which in crude, hoped to sell
Skin and mindless banter.
A silent light switches on-
Early morning prayers at midnight;
Gods saunter and relive,
Days of mortality,
Of sojourns and nostalgia,
Like those refuse to believe, in
A higher being, sins, curses,
Cruel tricks, litany, devils,
Coincidence and submission.
.
They are but a poster on the wall,
A mark of yearning,
Among the miserly triads of a trying faith.
As the lights go off,
A lighting strikes, far away,
Stealing a life,
In the blink of an eye.
Those days are gone,
New ones, now await.
The Light Shines The Brightest
