Tell Me No More of Enchanted Days

The Never-Ending Song I was once a hill, Wild flowers crept along my shadowy feet In my dense, inviting arms were birds, of colours that you don't see any more I was once a hill, with sweat so sweet, it flowed from my brow, gushing towards the earth, collecting in clear puddles I was once a hill, and you climbed my back, smelling the green grass, panting when you reached my ear, Looking down on a marvel of a world I was once a hill. Now, I'm dressed in cement Bags untearable, chemicals foul and dark They tear me down bit by bit every day Like a hungry bird on a rat I was once a hill, Now they drill me to the ground Make their homes On my bones, crying out aloud I don't complain too much. I was once a hill, Now my fingers are crushed into a million pieces, My pounding heart is painted with tar What can I say? The wind is my voice. Every grave has a ghost, Tomorrow, mine will rise up Up in a storm of dust, Up in a sea of terror, Come down in a torrent Come down with the blind

Mind Holes The tree is huge, Way up above are new leaves Washed by rain, renewed by sunlight But below, on the lower branches are cobwebs The inner soul, the mind created long back, untouched by years The past always returns to haunt and refresh Quietly we tread carefully, each night to avoid the holes for fear of being pulled back into the recesses of the mind Mostly, we succeed But sometimes, we fall and revisit the graves and the muck Come out covered in the dust of yesterday and the murky waters, Rising up, struggling out, Like a time traveller, Washed by rain, renewed by sunlight.