Skewered - impaled,
Trapped by irons breath, I struggle
Release captive lungs

Tongues of flame licked,
Twisted and swam
Among driftwood and husk
Crushed cans lie by boots and barefeet alike,
Hunting dogs snuffle the undergrowth, fur matted in boar blood.
Torn, tired and scarred hands rest between scuffed knees
A brief respite, for all attending will awake before dawn
Cane, cattle, dirt and toil is in my DNA
As a child, legs brown in dust, littered with scabs - legacy of a farming childhood.
I'd watch the fire-bug sparks drift toward the soft evening sky, adorned in cold unreachable jewels,
And listened,
**** destroyed a years worth of crops,
Price of fertilizer was increasing
The price of sugar plummeted
Underneath the lighthearted camaraderie and the shared stories of hunting,
These men were terrified,
Tired,
Losing hope and will,
And I knew,
I knew, that this life would not be mine.

It's quiet here
Cacophonous roar of silence
Amongst the deafening traffic of people

My dearly beloved,
I mean me of course.
Realisation that at the end
I will be joined by no other
than my former selves.
The contemplative child,
the argumentative adolescent,
the stern steadfast teen,
the resigned, mournful, dead in the heart adult.
Now, in mid-twenties, battled, won and lost.
Worn, determined, haloed  by oblivious might
Who will I be in the next stage of life?
Yet to be determined by me.
Strength, blindness and toil.
I forge on, while end of human era is near,
Closer, with each passing breath, a child is born
Destined to a world that rages on fire unseen,
And yet, I sit, I drink tea
I watch Greta fight
With conviction I thought once ruled me,
And yet, still I sit
Still I drink tea,
Wondering vainly,
Who might I be?

Little feet followed faithly,
trusting the eldest ahead.
Fear of snakes were wavered.
Cattle watched with a curious eye.
Muddy, barefoot, eyes searching the trees above.
Patiently waiting for the flutter of wings.
Listening for whistled whispers on the wind.

Shhh - she whispered,  gazing ahead.
Hear the drums of the goblin fleet.

Across the gully and trickling stream.
Two armies of glimmering gold shall meet.

Quick, crouch and hide low!
We cannot allow the battalions to know,
That children of man observe below -
A battle of fairy magic and goblin greed.
A battle of desperation and need.
Goblins advancing to sacred land
a hollowed sycamore, edged in armoured hands.
The day draws long, shadows rise upon the fight.
Soon, the armies shall depart, to trees high and tunnels low.
For they fear more - the creatures of night