It is there

It is there

In the yearning?

A restlessness of spirit

Unsettling the relative calm

Raising the level

Of uncertainty

Every heart flutters

How far can it fly

Without breathing

How many times does it call

Before the pattern is noted

Shivers run in parallel

There are no timbers

To be felled

Or yardarms to be hoisted

The itch is never scratched

Until the feet move

Even a dance is only half

A yard away

How many times did you listen

Before the song became you

Rarely does the music play

In time

There is always discontent

When a melody fails

To lift the mood

Happiness is fleeting

Lost among the high trees

Reaching for the sunlight

Before the heat

Goes out of the day

Too many souls walking

In darkness

Isn’t it a pity

They don’t know the way

How in spite of reason

Every spirit freed

Seems to follow

Where the old roads lead

There are no secrets

That we know of

Just a privilege of access

To the dissemination of knowledge

As with scribes

In ancient times

The clergy in years gone by

Preaching from a pulpit

Every word owned

By the only ones

Who learn to read the books

So many people in darkness

Unknown soldiers were not

A rarity but the norm

A king could play

At being a pauper

But a poor man

Could never be a king

Harbouring thoughts of glory

Vanity is more than just

An idle game

Played on the fields of Eton

The lawns of Versailles

Or the forests of Balmoral

Is every white swan

The property of the crown

The White House a designation

Not a statement

An official secret

A redacted oxymoron

Waiting to be free