I just do not understand myself.
I look for answers in the time lines
I try and work out whether I am a monster by looking at the sins of others
Art sometimes just says to me "you are empty"
This wet cold street that you walk accommodates your footfall knowing you will not be here for ever.
Then I look at 'religion' and find that I am a sinner saved by grace and the earth awaits my bones.
I look at trees felled by the storm winds
Wrenched by the roots
The soil turned at right angles to the sky
There are no answers except those I hear in my own mind
There is no voice that speaks softly anymore - harsh words abound.
Remember you touched the headstone in that Cornish churchyard in 1994 and watched the sunset turn the tower pink.
The wind stirs up roof tiles, twigs and plastic bags
It puts me ill at ease
I so want to rest without the conflict of all the words we throw at each other
My head is just a head- a hairy crown with a soup of thoughts within
Then a sparrow chirps a song and I remember the cacophony of my youth
The abundance of singing
Not one falls from the sky without a sorrow borne
And we fell many.
Do you remember my song ?