The Kings' birthday…

The Kings' birthday…

Does success follow

In the wake of failure

Is it the other way around

Does it even matter when the time comes

To view the world anew.

Standing in the middle of a fresh-cut field

The smell of hay

Puts him in mind of childhood

When everything was possible.

The world seemed to revolve

Without him ever feeling dizzy

Watching as tall buildings

Appeared on the skyline

When there was a purpose

To their construction.

People were as busy as Bees

The world was a hive

Watching workers thrive

Until the breakdown

Of trust in the system.

There is power in steam

Strength in dirt

But nothing will last forever

A common refrain

As buildings come down

And are built again.

The speed of acrobats

On monocycles back peddling

Whilst juggling

With sticky-fingers

The dexterity of their sleight of hand.

Was there ever really an even chance

Of success

When the money changers

Were left holding the baby.

Monetarising childhood

Balancing the books

Whilst dancing on

Tenterhooks

Guarding the doors

To the penthouse.

Where all the best views

Are reserved

For tall people

Who can see all the stars in the sky

Set them in motion

Watch them circle

Like starlings

Wearing starched white mittens.

Moving in concert

A murmur of minstrels

The sparkle of diamonds

Out of place and time,

Vapour trails

A call sign of Cold War returns

For the ageing hawk.

The organ grinder

The sceptic with the septic smile

Waiting in the wings

For permission to intervene

As the world turns

On a sixpence

And where once he turned with it

He has become fixated

With a partial view

Of his future

Obscured by the nature of change,

Its hold on the past

And in the blink of an eye

Kept moist with antihistamine

The grass has grown over his shoes.