Blowing In The Wind

Blowing in the Wind Wild oats and thistles covered the track swiping at my legs as a punishment for old sins I thought safely forgotten in the misty dale that makes wars look romantic adventures that separated men from boys where trespasses are buried under flowers and manly never referred to unless you are A soppy fool who betrays old soldiers’ secrets. The cottage was still there but trees around it had grown so big it could not be seen from the road; the door was easy to open windows had layers of spiders’ webs as curtains made the room shady in the noon heat. In intense silence the past came thundering alive, so many grave not visited and tears of those betrayed ran down my cheeks, a lake of clarity, a mirror I couldn’t run away from I punched the stone wall, bloody knuckles I had spilt much blood, never my own, I savoured the pain, stood on an ancient table threw a rope over a beam, when my dog barked wanted to come in from the noon heat…At ease now I walked back to the road and behind me a hangman’s noose gently swayed.