angels at the pagan threshold

landscape seen by standing eye

on wind stripped rooftops edge,

answers pilgrims of nausea

fall as if from the depths of the sky,

horizon alone with forest

sun faced green silk and gold,

tracks of those who journey in faith

into the still of wooded glade,

within voices imagined

brambles pulled by enraged fingers

mess and tangle hide

that place used as a remote hope,

he should be there

pale faced

emotions a fountains stream

pleasure would not be found

with slackened vines,

this horizon embraced him

pulled into its complex afternoon

where time lie down

petal seconds fall,

chaos is not for choosing

sleep will not be heeded

as these files of thought

are put away,

staunched by class,

those in power jailers to tomorrow,

gas would fill indecent blue

and many more would fall,

for the sake

of secrets of kings

wordle

dazzling abstract

i am a prophet

with rolled up trousers

and open jacket,

i have heard violins in Paris

yet with smudged knees

before you entranced,

voice of pale sherbet

snare drum indulgence,

you took me  to the rooftops

overlooking fullest sea,

i wrote to the back of my skull

with it’s literary granite lesions,

flew with sunrise

alien chorus comes as

if both worlds imitate,

i wanted your eyes

before then went to sleep

to see the bondage we feel,

your spell fell on my ear

resistance would only be sorrow,

then to the shrieking jungle

riffs and strums

break the brittle shell on my heart

nymph and satyr

platter of desire,

i clutch the glittering prize

Ponytail by Last Exit, http://magpietales.blogspot.co.uk/