David Lacey

Rookie - 287 Points (2/3/87 / Middlesbrough)

Hair Grown Wild In Honour Of The Goddess - Poem by David Lacey

Sick to the stomach of laughing always crashing on the verge,
Always one step away from perversion awaiting the surge.
I don't care anymore, don’t know what I want anymore,
Why don't you just close the door? Maybe it'll be easier on us both.

Maybe when you open it they'll be a new light shining brighter
Than this dim lit lampshade you find before you now,
With the fabric round his chest growing tighter day by day.

The girls names stick but faces the blur, all upon the stir of memories tidings
Of festivities hiding beyond the veil of stars that blanket our crowns.
What cruel a hand of fate to land me in this place,
Leave me here my momentum stricken with the fatigue of loves great race run
Lost with so little grace one would laugh at ease at the runner as he comes in last again.

Smile it not worth frowning for, you've no need to explain yourself, your state of mind.
It's hard to find what we're all looking for, many stumble upon the path,
Many never find the time to laugh at those running when they claim it's for fun,
Deeper, leaking into the past.

Finally you've found your ground,
Found the sense in your lips to mimic the sounds of the birds in the trees,
The howling of the wind, the hum of the bumble bee of birds in spring.
Finally the river listens to our pleas.

Who knows where we go from here, To the mountain?
To dance, sing by the nightshades,
Awaiting upon the crossroads for our circle to complete itself.

So many years on and we're still hiding in the shadows, all for what, for them to call it madness to lay in the meadow,
For you to enjoy yourself
To revel in the mysteries of life and death, to allow curiosity a fresh breath of creativity.

Hair grown wild in honour of the goddess,
Her estranged beauty in face of dangers untold
Cares thrown to the corner, to lie tangled in a mess
Alongside the tapestries of change we are yet to unfold.

Where is she now, guarding the watchtower?
Awaiting the cycle to turn, the autumn leaves
To burn slow beneath the last rays of a dying sun.

If only she could see me now, trembling, cowering
Only to smile claim I'll stay forever young.
When we know, we both know, all know
That each young loves die old, left to grow cold to gather winter frost.

At what cost shall we declare our love is lost?
How can I spare a heart thrice crossed?
By forgetting her, erasing the memory?
Casting down unto the fire the etchings of my aching desire,
To throw from the galleries of my mind the only thing that keeps me sane,
Only for the act itself to find it's roots in disillusioned clarity.

I shall keep her memory warm beyond my eyelids, beyond the wall of sleep,
The etchings I've made, upon my soul, there mine to keep and deep down, below the recess,
far into the abyss shall always shine a remembrance of her bindings of an asylum within euphoria, bliss.


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Poem Submitted: Saturday, October 22, 2005

Poem Edited: Tuesday, November 15, 2005


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