The dark grey light of the false dawn finds me standing in the doorway at the break of a rain scented day, and in the dark light it seems as if I am reviewing events that have taken place and directed some of my actions lately. By those who feel that they are the chosen and entitled ones who need to know the score on what was said and took place. Along with all I have been through even if they are all over and done and been buried deep in unmarked graves in the fields. Yet it seems that the sounds can be heard of a dead horse being beaten and digging from those fields where all lies buried, and there can also be heard on the gentle breeze their voices asking: “Who’s gonna teach me how to dance and to fly?" Not knowing as I stare out towards that black range below that I carry a righteous anger that hangs ripening on the vine,-
As other views were taken instead of what they expected with me taking up pike and saber and exploding in a pattern. With this not being the time or place and nor will ever be for them to have what they seek to be revealed; except for that one who truly knows me and makes up the other half of that first alliance that was forged in fire years ago, who knows that there is a reason behind the reason for me to draft a resolution or take vows concerning their actions. Which can be seen as a form of madness as a form of payment for mistakes made if a code or vows must be taken, and knowing too that there is no faith held or lost on those feeling entitled to hammer me with the questions they fire. As I take the hand of the one who knows me just about the time those massive siege guns fire into that black range below.

With both of us knowing that they are power tripping as I hold her hand tighter just as the first shells land behind them. Ringing their bells with the concussion and then the blast blows their game and those screens they hide behind, for they called the thunder down and Hell followed with it as the guns spoke disrupting their plans and schemes. Causing them to realize in most cases that their crap doesn’t wash as the shells continue to fall.

She looks at me as our hands grip tighter and she knows I have died a million times and risen up each time, having been flexible enough to reinvent myself with each incarnation and have picked a form of culture well: In the form of this first alliance along with those I’d stop a bullet for and that Mangy Motley Crew who are of good character. And both she and God have told me to relax and take all things day by day and play by play and never let them see me crawl, for we both have been through the hard and good times though at times we seemed strange allies with warring hearts, Even if it seems as though I might be running on ice at times I know that I can count on her,-
Just as an explosion from a direct hit shakes the valley below and a pillar of fire rises in the dawn’s dark light, as a hit on an old bond of friendship which I cut one day as I closed my eyes and knew without thinking it needed to be cut. While their self appointed leaders all sit asking why after years of giving answers to nothing and find the tables turned, as they are now being held accountable for their actions as those shells that are fired on them puncture their lies, that were used in the games played as words of trust during one early October day and has come to this point in time. And she and I having placed our hands on our hearts to take a stand then with faith and hope to be had between us, along with the power to create and mix our own dreams that they can’t touch, disrupt or come near to breaking.

As another explosion is heard from a direct hit on a set piece they set in motion rocks the valley again, and now hearing the gun captain ordering that the guns stand down as a hasty retreat is being formed in the valley down below, as I find myself slump against the wall as the sound of the deafening sound of silence holds sway in the dark light,-
And both of us know as I close my tired eyes that there is no cause for celebration over those who now are in retreat. For we both know that most of them below would like to see our alliance broken and hold a requiem over us, as I look in her eyes and see the sea along with that blue million mile reflection.

That girl from The North Country Fair offers me her hand again so that we can head on down the line, with both of us following the North wind down that pine tree lined winding road in the sun’s dark light not letting all pass us by, and heading out to see what our future holds and what our dreams might hold carrying with us the love we hold inside. And now turning our eyes to the blood shot sky knowing the rain will soon be coming as we head like drifting spirits down the line.

Heading West through the trees and heading down to where the river flows to wash the illusions of the entitled ones away.

Copyright March/April 2011 – 1: Timberwolf International LTD.