The calm that never came

The break, chip freely at this tangled grey mist

The bindweed draws tighter

And arthritic fingers curl deeper in fist

But out comes the ointment

To soak, and away this translucent terror

Mind, the mind is a mind

Its knuckle turns and will emerge much stronger

A gleam, a hope

A gleam, a hope

Quiet boys, head down, no games

We drift like a boat with no mast

Chewed through and discarded 

In some forgotten night terror

The land mass ahead is dark and disturbed

But a beach fire, a glint in the eye

A gleam, a hope, the shadow of a sword

Crashed. Head down, no games, boy