A quiet place of space and time
asks me whether the fluctuating weather
is something which will ever cease,
find a moment of peace within or without causality
in the east or a west facing beast
day by day losing more of its teeth.
Conflict on all fronts (foreign and domestic) gives the throne
a sheen of the clean and the majestic
that cannot hide the fact that in spite of the dialectic
the only pressure in this region is high.
But even though some may say the end is nigh,
and easy though it is to subscribe to this impassioned cry,
best to view it as an all too familiar eschatological lie
that flies in the face of logic and reason
like the narrow-eyed, southern fried, rationality denied man
stock piling tinned produce as fast as he can.
As well he may for society today has its fair share of myopic, destructive sons of the sword
who believe themselves in direct communication with some all-powerful Lord
and saviour who, clearly ignoring their behaviour
seems to savour the flavour of a soul
dispatched to curry heavenly favour.
Take careful note the gentle, cool breeze
that dances with ease through the lofty trees
that currently shelter dignitaries and luminaries
because weather by its very nature is a thing of change.
Not necessarily for the better but a change nonetheless
that changes us and those whom we choose to bless…
…creating a seemingly unsolvable mess that will eventually,
more or less be covered by as yet unwritten history,
a forthcoming mystery of what is to come? How much will we see?
Will the important events be relevant to you and me?
This depends entirely on whether the weather truly can set you free.