When the colours of the day,
turn to dull and dreary grey;
and emotions drain away,
with the fading light.
I will follow in your wake,
every move and step you take,
my devotion less opaque,
than the sullen night.
Shall we go by all we’ve heard,
from assorted geek or nerd,
or spook like frightened birds,
and craven dove?
Should we know that fearful words,
are convincing but absurd;
and the future looks like murder
to our love?
So we stand in vacant lines,
and exhibit all the signs;
the panic of official push and shove.
In lockstep like the blind,
or in Orwell’s world defined;
this state of hate aligned,
against our love.
And when darkness so descends,
we’ll walk hand in hand like friends;
and find in mutual loneliness, relief.
At that stark and staring time,
without words we act and mime,
to play out the little dramas of our grief.
As when all pale shadows pall,
and the wisp of twilight falls;
our sojourn at the barricades was brief.
We fought the good fight well.
We gave their flagship hell,
and drove it hard on dashing rock and reef.
And when the ebb of night has passed,
and the dawn arrives at last;
the writing on the wall’s lit from beneath.
How long the piece of string,
to plumb the depths within,
and mine our final nuggets of belief?
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