Tolkien’s Night

When I was a kid in the 1960s, the farmers could be heard lamenting about a changing world that they feared.

Beautiful stone cobbled streets of small towns were replaced with “The Shopping Mall Generation!” AND cities grew. “Who would grow the food?” The farmers asked.

But did anyone see this coming down the pike? A generation so smart that they make money while they sleep?

A generation who became so important that not having children became for them, the best option. Which is probably the best thing since we can no longer determine genders…

I am not afraid. I am not in control. I am embarrassed… or am I entertained?

One generation builds so that the next can enjoy life and the children of that generation from this lap of luxury can destroy.

This is the cycle.

Repeat or break?

We dined on tea and oranges.

On the sand down by the sea.

There were possible storm warnings.

That escaped both you and me.

The dingy left the harbor.

The sail snapped by noon.

The winds grew dark and heavy.

Under far too soon, typhoon.

They’ll be no more tea and oranges.

Or walks down at the park.

The dreamers dream is heavy now.

And faint hopes are growing dark.

It’s raining in the valley.

Everything is getting wet.

Except her love for me, you see.

I tried but could not get.

It’s raining in the highlands.

I’m thinking in old song.

Even babies raised by wolves.

Know when they don’t belong.

The rains a distant memory.

Thinking about traveling to the coast.

I live sometimes just in my mind.

It’s the rain I miss the most.

I’ve been falling out of love.

I’ve been feeling out of touch.

Been slapped by hand in glove.

And the pains not bad as such.

Been down… but there’s no panic.

Between Princess and the Fool.

Not feeling at all a romantic.

Silence will be the rule.

I will ride this out till doomsday.

Got plans and hopes inspire.

These voices in my head at play.

They all singing to the choir.

The light slices the darkness.

The blues are looking grey.

The gifts they keep on coming…

Here comes another day.

One of my earliest childhood memories is from the back seat of a car peering into the blackness of the road being sliced by highbeams… Suddenly, out of nowhere, from the darkness of the country and the trees and forest was the lights of the city! Like a million diamonds shattering the empty.

The possibility of all those people! Surely some will be nice?

I had never before witnessed such a transformation; one second darkness, the next, millions of lights shattering that!

Anything was possible…

What a trip it has been.

There was no turning back!

The sun dropped to horizon.

The night fell from the sky.

The worry came upon us.

Like a fear that would not die.

We listen to these moments.

For the truth is in the sound.

And the music plays at heart strings.

In the shadows love is found.

The Absurdity is in the hand wringing… The worry, strife and sorrow.

The furrowed brows, the panicked fears, the big plans for tomorrow.

I wish I knew this earlier, a regret of wasted time.

Not learning to laugh sooner in the gutters and the rhyme.

Better late than never is as close to no as yes.

No one’s getting out alive, unless I’m wrong a guess.