The air was fresh
on the tide that summer.
The world our orange
waiting to be peeled,
youth sang her timeless song,
truth was being free.
The Brigadoon carnival
came to a Cornish town
and paraded the shoreline
with beautiful losers,
dancing dreams
and the forever young.
Now the vast extremes of life,
flood our ability
to see what we are,
who we are,
why we are?
No next move,
no train back home,
is there hope?
Only if we can dream
‘If only’ and believe!
Not allowed to die,
we grope
into a wasteland
where our young shadows
play on Peter Pan’s parade.
It is there
that our
adrenalin soaked
unshaken bodies
had their day.
Now we the old
are exiled to a Shadow land
the other side of moonlight.
Hope my friends,
that there is something
the other side of the moonlight,
can star light help?
Tortured flowers
keep me company
and I have
no place
for tears.