I recall a large rock or perhaps a stone that stood on the hill all on its own shaped in no small way like a piano, as children we’d sit grandly before like Ludwig or Brahms or Jerry Lee and tap out silent concerts only we could hear, until of course our interest waned and we ran to play on the swings down the way.
the randy dandy scallywag atop cathedral steps with prayers of lust and freedom a self styled hero to none pre-raphaelite sensibility dressed in post punk finery he falls in love and out of heartbreak while singing the blues in broken latin a hero from a Fellini film never made but rehearsed a million times in coffee shop dreams across the decades.
frail and mighty just like you, and just like me but most of all like nobody.
the past is blue the future red this present, gold it must be said, the known is green the unknown black but face we must for turning back to what was when and that which cannot be again is as a quest for rainbow’s end and colours run come not again
not with words can I impress dare declare the hopelessness that I could seek to find to truth fair narrative upon my youth nor to those days long dead and gone would I decry in old man’s song for that time though brief, was gold thus in my poor verse ’tis cheaply sold.
If I could build a bird box in which we both could stay safe and sound without a care I’m sure we’d be okay inside our little bird box in the branches of a tree oh how blessed in our love-nest the two of us would be.