Anthony Di'anno (North Yorkshire)
To The Rattle
Contained, nay confined, within the walls of this leathery heart of mine wrestles a love divine.
A nemesis that thunders around my bower.
Seeping through the crack where rhyme fails to connect with reason. It yearns.
Oh how it yearns to be free of this prison it so despises.
It bleeds such a sorrowful song along the haunted corridors where mawkish crows enter into noisy debate with careful doves.
It pumps my heart.
'tis a dark timbre'd sanctuary built upon the bedrock of lessons long since forgotten.
Long since rotten.
Seared into existence through pure scorched experience.
I hoist my colours and claim this highly tensile web borne of my own design. For 'tis truly mine.
Hark! the combines approach.
A truth doth encroach.
is caught between the panted breaths of expectant contractions.
Broken waters flood the lands.
Blooded hands perform scant distractions.
Those that did no longer can.
Those that could?
Where is the man, within, that does some good?
Aaahhh, 'tis no matter nor point for concern. For I will be pressed and placed according to my kind.
My cards to fall as petals succumbed to the terminus of their season.
To dance upon chequered floors.
A line against the chequered past doth lead me now along a different path.
Shadowed upon electric paper.
Marrowed within eclectic caper.
The determined face,
of one more battle.
Along this race.
To The Rattle.
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