Come away, away from the threads
Where the fall of midnights past softly tread
Like a wisp of wind unsheathed in stalks of rye;
Come away, from shadows half-grown and threatening,
The old ones muttering
Of iron-clad promises etched in the blood of earth
And dark, sweaty youths who proved their worth:
Now, shattered on the stumps of gums,
And one too many rums
To lend a hand where there are none.
Come away and leave what has been done.
Across the paddock he watches the sky
Waiting for another dreamtime.
Come away; Oh please, I pray
For there's no escape once he looks your way
With a memory that reaches to the end.
Come away, back to the warmth of arms,
The sweet whispered balms
Of what tomorrow's break will send
And for a time you'll forget again:
Humming voices sing animal stories
In ancient words,
While dirt and dust, kicked up in dance, reveal past glories;
Twisting, beating, vibrating
Into the earth, sealing.
Across the years he listens to lies
Waiting for the promised dreamtime.
The air drops another notch as the grey mist glides and sniffs
Along dewy fields, fluttering at the edge of window frames,
Butting its head, softly; tapping a warning of our refrain.
Resting beyond the corners of light,
Silently tasting the day before.
And others tighten their hold on rugs of down,
Lest it slip by and find them there;
But the grey chill retreats with old dreams.
The house falls back to sleep.
Lids lowered and shallow breathing,
I take the time to scan the evening
Like a she-dingo with her pups.
Still, regret wells in narrowed eyes,
For all that I had not tried–
When his link to the land he severed
And wandered alone, weary and so long fettered,
By a promise we made to care and create
Of lofty intent–
Too late.
The lore and the land left behind with an unspeakable question:
"Oh, what have we wrought?"
Come away now! I beg of thought.
Across the baked, red earth he feels it die,
And lowers his eyes
For the loss of dreamtime. |
Submission Name: Come Away
