A place of fleeting shallows,
of waters rising roughly with the tides,
and shortly draining all away.
Where notions rise as bottles on a pollute sea,
and are tossed about on wavelengths,
let loose upon the noisy air,
to fall again, silent, into the water.
A time of rising disbelief,
leaving warships of old glory-stripped,
their hulls bored through beneath our vision,
to sink under their mutiny.
When a whispered word means more
than a thousand voices pounding on the sky
in thunderclaps of protest.
A world of red-lit nights,
the falling sun casting colours on the sea,
and making shadows for their working.
Where lightening rises from the ground,
to spread its violence to the cloud,
pierces through, and the rain brought tumbling
tastes of acid on the tongue.
A time of desperate villains, desperate men,
whose desperation breeds contempt for laws of nature,
and plants the seeds of lies, to rise
as lofty trees, fed pesticides and time.
When calls for justice are lost into the air,
made quiet in the rising roar, the winds,
and in the winds the voices melt,
and all hands are lost at sea.
Magical: Day One 