shuffled into the hallway the laughing ignorance stews in its bathrobe and cigar at the edge of its own manicured lawn with a pale eye it it calculates with a thin cold lip it ponders he makes his lazy way to his bed among the spilled leaves makes his way to the comforts of eyes closed visions
the laughing ignorance proverbial fool in ragged cloth dancing a jig on a spring moon's grave flowers in hand and wreaths of holly adorning his head like a crown of soft thorns his skilful laugh echoes across the barren field littered with the passing of days strewn with the formulations of nights bitter embrace no mere words can delay or mislead the way that darkness creeps into the mind when alone with its own devices
done with his jig he sits on the springs moons grave and sips at the christmas wine savoring its crisp life on his tongue the laughing ignorance still wearing the dancing fools leather shoe is a hobbled prisoner of his laughing jest no other time or place has room for his kind for his pantomime of long lost victory's on beachheads of distant sandy shore
his rancid eye calculates me in all my rumoured mistakes and he speaks to that dream not to me so i will leave him here standing in manicured existence of his own sour pain the fall will find him sleeping sweetly on the spring moon's grave and it will renew him leaves swirling down as the world steals the crown of the tree above he will be a young man once again renewed by the promise of maidens dancing and the dance of winterlight on snowbound fields