Hush, and listen . . .

My voice is no louder than yours.
Sometimes it is very quiet.
But I still have things to say,
I still have an opinion.
You should listen to my opinion,
For it is valid, and just as relevant
As your opinion is.
Please do not try and shut me up.
I have something to say.
It is the small people, the quiet people,
The almost silent people, the ones on the margin,
The ones who dare not shout,
The ones who fear the blows of misfortune,
The ones who work to stand still;
These are the people who hold our world together,
And these are the people that need to speak up.
Together we have a voice.
Together we can be heard.
Do not try to shut us up, we
Have things to say.
When the people speak.

In a minor key.

Small shivers of anticipation
Shatter the brittle glass of complacency,
And send the shards of disappointment
Spinning and shimmering
Across the room.
But it makes no difference,
The day is not yesterday
And tomorrow is an unknown
That we will never understand.

Shout, scream, stand up
And be counted.

Tears that should be imprisoned
Escape and slide, sneakily
Down a frozen cheek,
And then melt into the raindrops
That curtain the view.

A single shaft of sunlight
Pierces the green grey gloom.

And somewhere, somewhere
Shadows dance.

© 2ndwitch, 16/02/15

Last will and testament

Who I am is not something that you can ever know
For the sky turns pink when the sun is setting
And the journey I travel is a strange one to you
For the sky turns dusk-deep-blue when the sun has set
And the places that I visit and ones that mean something to me
And the sky turns black as night casts its spell on dusk
As I turn and wave goodbye and walk out of the door
The stars are clinging to the velvet curtain before the dawn
And my footsteps tread along the old old road
As the sky wakens the cloud-girt morning at the opening of the day
And the road rolls over hill and dale
Burnt amber-grey in the midday sun
The bracken waves and fades into facsimile flames
And the void is all that is left.

© 2ndwitch © 28/11/14 (and the lack of all punctuation bar the last full stop is quite deliberate.)

The Reckoning.

Silence is golden, but the hour as the sun sets and the world
Waits for dark to cast its velvet blanket over all is silver,
And the gossamer threads of fading daylight sparkle
Iridescently in the evening light. The trees become
As shadows, ephemeral and shape-shifting, waving
Lazy leaves to welcome moths that moonlight
Spotlights, and slowly leeching the colour from
The dying day.
And then the night is nigh, velvet blue and star-studded
With diamonds of memory, pearls of times that are past
Now, and that cannot come again.
The world lies, quiescent and torpid, spinning
In space, and waiting for another cycle to complete
And once again be bathed in sun.
Gold, silver, maybe, but the reality is the green of
Copper, and the burnished gleam of bronze.
The reality is cloud-brushed air, and rain-dropped
Water, massing on the parched earth.
Mercury, lead, and the waste from making power
To feed the greed of man,
These are the legacies we leave to our children and grandchildren.
There will then be no silver and gold.

© 2ndwitch, 29/10/14

(My thanks to Steve Tilston, whose amazing song of baby boomer guilt, 'The Reckoning', was the trigger for this poem. See http://www.stevetilston.com )