After the Parade

The ground trembles. Rocks rise up from the earth –

moist with rain and life - the brook collapses

in on itself. Playful light, filled with mirth,

vitality. Early dawn; night lapses

gently away at a time when no-one

notices. But we are here to watch it

now. Different. A new era; begun

a cataclysm unexplained. Commit!

an inner voice pleads – to this moment. For

it will soon all be over. A blot on

the fabric of the universe, wherefore

the light behind the shadow of life fawns

and concedes it’s place in the vast unknown.

It’s time to reap the seeds that we have sown.

A small group of us convene on the hill.

Together by chance to watch it unfold

(dice ever fall whichever way they will).

The murmurs of uncertainty grow cold.

The woeful cries of realisation

subside and what remains, a quiet peace,

a grateful and sombre resignation.

The air prickles with sharp cool – uncreases

the trick of another day as beads of

dew materialise on grass under

our bare feet. But the light comes from above

and bears unfamiliar tinge; occurs

like a warning. Emerges from someplace

else entirely to linger. Just a trace

of life left in us now and so we breathe

deeply and relish the sharpness of the

chill and the potency of the reprieve.

We bask in the reverent quiet, a

moment to savour that we are here at

all. Bitterness and remorse seem wholly futile

so all that’s left is sensation and that

cool feeling of the damp earth, infertile

beneath our toes. Nature knows it too, and

She weeps quietly at the goodness and

badness of man, but wise enough –at hand -

to face the inevitable. Unplanned,

though nothing ever is, and here we are:

our shadows dance one final time before our burning star.