The Rite of Passage

The rite of passage The old green wagon moves a life Heads appear like nodding gulls Eyes cast down searching cracked flags Hopes from people sadly to be missed. Un-walked limestone worn and smooth Names unknown pronounced with care Cats are watching ears laid flat Hoping for a swift return. Birnbeck sits in swathes of grey Awash with things that crawled the tide Calloused hands help downward steps Keeping faith on steady legs. In time with autisms dragging feet Not knowing still how words are said The backward journey seems so long Help shunned by one straight eye. Early smells of flowering mint Pervade young senses drawn to home Ancient trees clasp hands above while Rooks berate a passage walked that Knowingly follows time worn trails. Kerb-stones line an unknown road that Reach horizon's fading edges Above a time worn scaffold sways Perhaps to halt a wayward course. Earth and ochres mix like blood Healing scars sewn up in haste That keep a soul from breaking up Not caring should a life be lost. Ink stained papers edges torn Keep note of any ill thought word Caen stone gently touched with love Abate a sense of shame and loss. Behind a broken brick façade Held in place with hair and sand Cements a quilt of truth and lies Not yet for want of faith or feeling. Unwanted dreams await their time Held up by benches warped and bent Each stroke and cut so carefully wrought Helps sanity to keep its changing form To live a life that can't be shared.