Across the spring laden fields, where birds flourish,
you can hear the beat of marching drums sounding.
All the centuries of Man generating war to rip the heart
of peace, out the minds and hearts of their children, and
where the frolicking songs of birds are once again, silenced,
across the poppy fields red ripe with the blood of brothers.

you can taste the tarmacked pavement
smell the earth
when rain mixes with molecules in your mind

the clock can be a fickle companion
catch you unawares
time your heartbeats
shock you into action
tell you, you are always late
always on time
too early.

you are more or less what you desire
way before it materialises in sold form
and even then desire will lead you on
so keep checking that compass

Darkness comes, an old friend
black wrapt around faith.
You cannot see in the dark
but that's the whole point.

Today, hammers ring out, rhythmic banging in the hands of workmen
renewing gutters and down pipes,
many times I wielded a hammer too, in past reincarnations of a work life.
Now, my fingers, like so many small hammers, fall heavy onto the keyboard, punching letters, hoping to make some sense, out so much nonsense. My twisted muscles would complain with too much pain and discomfort, if I were foolish enough to pick up a hammer, so I resist the temptation as much as I can, and reminisce about past life lived with so much vigour and carefree good health, when time was other than today.

Everything you touch
leaves a fingerprint of love;
a witness to your heart.

Mightily ' ******' in so many ways
yet still, we breed.