old moss meadows

Keeper flailed then slowly turned around, the plight of sightless seekers far, stretched arms to feel that which surrounds, some trace of errant star...

"It's more meaningful than all this time," he thought as he scratched his ass, "to from this dissonance, render rhyme, that our futures scorch the past..."

Three ravens circled just outside, narrow fissured refuge place, when pasts and futures somehow collide, one is forced to gag on space...

Descending spirit, wandering fields, left all of them behind, the ones you love, who sing in kind, all that which feeling yields...

The good and bad, the highs and lows, we take these things in turns, but patience somehow always knows, the way our spirits yearn...

So, Keeper swept himself up in his cloak, with fervour set about, and unto fields to have a smoke, to puff away all doubt...

And as he sat there beneath dawning sky, a crooked pipe in hand, a gentle friend from years gone by, just happened to descend...

Old Moss Meadows then reeled to form, from someplace 'twixt the earth and sky, with him the sky breathed something warm, and the world came alive...

Moss Meadows smelled of morning dew, like all the dreams of me and you, and Keeper too, for all his crank, the bilious way in which he stank...

Moss Meadows was one not much for words, preferred to quietly and wait, the dawning chorus of morning birds, hear them persistently elate...

The saddened states of broken hearts, of travellers wandering far afield, even Keeper and his putrid farts, for all the truth that they do yield...

"So, you are come to greet me at the end," said Keeper on a breath. "I have come to greet an ancient friend, at the unwinding of a death...

Or the unravelling of beginnings,"breathed old Moss Meadows on the breeze, Keeper beamed with hopeful grinning, then stood up tall with little ease...

"I've still yet leagues and leagues before i reach, the fateful transcendental space, where boy crossed sky and gave this place, a taste of all those dreams that swirl...

This way, that way, here and there, fates are shifting left and right, their way, our way, truth or dare, we gather here to end this blight..."

At which Old Moss Meadows puffed a circle made of clouds, in which emerged a question mark, "Why so quick to lift the shroud, and undermine the will of larks?"

Keeper sat there in a centric sphere, Moss Meadows yet present at his side, Keeper gasped and muttered with drear, "Don't know how much longer i can hide...

From things i have, or haven't done, the worlds set into being, ideas and clay in unison, and love that took my seeing..."

Moss Meadows took some light into his hands, then he proffered it unto friend, such acts are indeed the living strands, and that is what perspective lends..."