Inklings, Poetry

Southern Summer Echoes

Southern Summer Echoes

And he sat listening in the twilight to the cicadas screaming
And his ears strained at echoes of something he forgot
And it rattled around in his brain and down his spine
And it was so purple-grey outside and he was so cold inside
And a little girl came and put her hand in his hand
And her laugh was pure and her eyes were clean
And full of afternoon tea and ice cream and day dreams
And they made him want to strain harder to hear
And he watched as she danced away on lilting feet
And frightened the fireflies into light and flight
And the clouds boiled and they rumbled and threatened
And he loved the electricity they promised
And the breeze smelled damp over the expectant grass
And there was an eternity in the instant
And he heard a voice within the echoing light and the cicadas
And the girl and the heavy electricity of the billowing clouds
And the voice was as real as a red, raging sword coming down
And the sword was speaking only to shrunken little him
And it invaded his belly and his boney joints and laid him bare
And it hurt and it healed and he sat shivering in the summer.

I woke up with the first four lines in my head and the rest is nonsense trying to make sense. 

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