Chaos. Words. Drugs of some sort.
Loitered about at some silent meeting spot
Across the valley where no sane man ventured
A fire was lit to destroy all inhibitions
The smell of sadness and decay.
Rose from the burning hay
As glazed eyes danced across the plain
Alcohol. Sadness. Heartaches.
Perhaps a pill for a long-lasting migraine.
Spilled across the night I stayed
Eyes. Minds. Constellations combine.
Puff of smoke in hazel eyes.
Splatter. Break. Shatter inside.
Ah the sound of laughter and cries.
Rebounding from the valley floor
A chill. A kiss. A prickle. A fist.
A fight.A cry. A loss. A lie.
A tangent. A circle. Across the fire.
Finales and birth both lurk around.
An eerie calling of home sounds.
Some soft cry of impending doom
The trees have welcomed.
Oh how they swoon.
It’s coming. It’s coming. Say the words
A gust of wind. A shadow. A blur.
And the fire is out of control
The whiskey, the air, the venomous spew
Of those eyes this “silent” night
There’s noise. There’s a cackle.
The fire rages, the dry grass crackles.
It’s coming. It’s coming.
The words feel the storm.
A single droplet forms in the clouds
Half a drip and then half a drop.
Suddenly the fires out.
The eyes are dazed with the spectacular show.
Everything else stops and the words flow.
Out of the valley. And away to home.