Times gone, same is me, tales not stale.
I tugged along, growing up, a habit.
I loved burning things, smoke was my joy.
Then I didn’t cut trees, another speciality.
Caught on, now I smoke weed,
my bag empty not; I pass wind.
Pass on to dreams, I am a bird
..with a sharp beak.
Carry on, Maybe a bat with wings.
Dreams of my mood swings.
When I did find you, that’s where you were;
Swinging from the Dream Tree
By way of your feet.
There was an awful stench on the rope
Or was it stenches? I would say so,
Hard as they were to tell apart,
Wriggling like worms in a pot
In my eyes,
But it’s you who knows how my nose sniffs;
You were sweet like a dropping apple.
As I swung you I thought of the wren
And how she sings
And told it to you;
You, being upside down, disagreed.
You said the real world was unkind,
It only bred people like you,
And I was breastfed by a nun,
Sheltered in convent and myth
From the truth.
You said darkness
Is the only reality and light
Its deficiency. A fire in your chest,
Flame on your tongue,
You breathed defiance,
Pain dancing the surface of your eyes.
I wonder now what
Carved your heart so deep
And stole the sleep
From your eyes,
Your beautiful eyes
That I could have kissed
But you wouldn’t let me.
You always were pig headed
digging your heels in for challenge
I often told you something wasn’t screwed on right
With habits set in tablets.
You swung all the way to defiance
and inhaled the smoke of rebellion
you were a wild card growing up
Rooted in insurbodination.
In seed, testas wrought with greed
Never satisfied; insatiable, your need
A stubborn child, to wise words, does not heed,
to the voice of father that teaches a good creed.
You have fallen, reaped a house made of reeds.
Lose not the childish desire, grow as a weed
Work hard always, there is much to achieve
But more will be gained, in heart, with good deeds
A collaboration by (in order of appearance) Kris C, Ceris D, Philani, Emmeline B and Edgar O