Storms of change

I know what in time
will come to hurt,
is strength and purpose
gone before their worth.


In realising this
at heart, it all feels pointless -
the beating out of pathways
through many networked veins.

A cowardly face, retained
and trained to bravely fade away.


Casting back our value
is such a fleeting memorial -
to pay for more, escape.


Simply to chase down, around
and drown in our own escapism,
our entertainment prison?

Division, comes when we take chances
to find out where our own romance is.

Neglect the lines we have been given
and draw the rails up and out across
the sky, with freedom, with feeling

rushed without direction. Flush
with raw reflection and falling out
of all of fashion, all reaction …

it's just a tragic crash of wasted cash.

Storms will come.

Worlds will fall, remould and form
the warmth of blankets rolled around us.

A burning double helix of infinite intention
ploughs on through and past us, without us
and all devoutness to any cause or friction -
a mere warp among the hefty weft of time.

When we break the machine,
we call a child to our fallen shuttle
we plead with obvious fears
and deafening dangers

to hear our endless anger.


To change our lives all ways, for the better
of all ways and options open to us.

by Gareth Rosser