I Dreamed of Peace  


                                 I dreamed of peace
                                 where games cannot touch my saddened heart;
                                 where the winters spray of discontent cannot
                                 make my blood cold, cannot make my marrow
                                 ache and my inner force limp wounded to the gray
                                 and weeping bank.

                                 I dreamed of peace
                                 where fire words shot to take me down
                                 miss their target and fall harmlessly in joyous fields
                                 of ripened corn, standing strong, smiling, repelling
                                 all the pointed barbs; whose yellow husks cannot be pierced
                                 but in reflecting provide a  nourishment so replete
                                 the archers arm is wearied by the load.

                                 I dreamed of peace
                                 where no longer do I wake at night
                                 seeking reassurance from apparitions that their calling
                                 means no harm;
                                 where the raven sitting on the drooping branch
                                 is not waiting for my soul’s ascent;
                                 where the soot covered face peering from the bracken
                                 is not the axe man arrived to take me home.

                                 I dreamed of peace
                                 where the fire in my brain is quelled
                                 by knowledge, accomplished thoughts of reason and
                                 not prone to dissatisfaction;
                                 where thirst is quenched in rivers so deep
                                 my dive can never touch or scrape the sides and
                                 in whose fear I need not fear;
                                 where my essence is left untouched , my spirit not assaulted
                                 by ego and forced appraisal.
                
                                 I dreamed of peace
                                 where false disinterest lies split and gaping
                                 and hypocrisy oozes its puerile bile across cracked and
                                 concrete stagnant floors;
                                 where beggars no longer assault my passing
                                 with arms outstretched and hope etched into canyon
                                 city faces;
                                 where the malcontent is driven to the slackened shallows
                                 and forced to face their own reflection.

                                 I dreamed of peace
                                 where lightening skipped and danced across the waves
                                 and thunder played the most delicate of notes;
                                 where wind swirled not in anger but caressed
                                 the sparse sand dune grass and the stilt legged
                                 petrel bobbed in anticipation;
                                 where the fuss of self induced stress is placed inside the trench
                                 and covered by the dirt of self awareness.

                                 I dreamed of peace
                                 where only peace may step and no intrusion
                                 may be entered;
                                 where neither the able nor the vacuous may encroach;
                                 where neither the sun drenched and rich may acquire that which
                                 others have stooped to learn;
                                 where the essence of time is encased and made bare
                                 and does not beat to a false clock;
                                 where all I have been and all I am to be is in the one,
                                 and there is no need to climb a further set of stairs.

                                 I dreamed of peace.

Poorly built Jenga towers
Polka-dot the moor
The cows and sheep, for centuries
Have wondered what they're for

Perhaps they're ancient ladders
Leading straight to heaven
But the last young lamb to try it
Fell down and smashed his head in

The cows tried them as markers
To work out where they are
But in their field that's useless
As they never travel far

For today is brand new,
It is of circumstantial glue.
For today is a day,
Unlike most yet still the same.
For today Ill give in,
Not sure if Ill be able to again.
For today ill forget who I am,
But not how to be a man
For today, just for today,
I want to be us again...

Have I forgotten what it is to be free,
What the warm air smells abound summer breeze?
Have I forgotten the simplest of tasks,
Or how the easiest questions are never asked?
Have I forgotten what it is to love,
The sensation of kisses and gentle hugs?
Have I forgotten the sound of the rain against my window,
The tap tap tap of the trees as the wind blows?
Have I forgotten what not to be afraid of,
That tomorrow might be my last one?
Have I forgotten to carry on with life,
To move forward and learn to forget the lies?
Have I forgotten to forgive and let live,
To speak softly and carry that big stick,
To get out and enjoy what is new?
Have I forgotten to forget you?

A simple room of solemn faces
She comes around, she leaves her traces
Of smiles and laughter, fascinations

A cockiness, distinctly hers,
Somehow so naturally occurs
This trait is to all clear
It tends to often reappear
Ironically it goes so far as to endear  

She speaks and her speech captivates
She dances, and with a twirl she is carefree
This mesmerizing energy that anyone can see
Radiates around her in a blissful glee

She can be demanding, when she sets out her orders
Confident and strong, without concern for borders
Like a dictator, not a bit demure
Yet even this, has a unique allure

Inspiring, a pain
Beautiful, but surely not as twain
Loved in spite, and with her flaws too
Because she is a mother, but mostly…
Because she’s you