Entering Paradise

She tried the path of difficult tread
Her hooves paced, in darkness' stead.
The leaves cascaded vastly overhead,
Creating a blanket under which to bed.
Under hoof were dried leaves abound,
With much sweet fungus to be found.
Toadstools made rings large and round,
To trap young children, safe and sound.
These youngsters, if orphans they be,
Who had never had a good bold family,
Would be taken to the court of King Faerie,
And the rest would be eaten, or set free.
So was the haunting rumour of the wood,
To keep children doing as they should,
And to keep them away from the hood,
Of the secret passage that darkly stood.
The one that led to a country sublime,
A place escaping society, trade and time.
A paradise not for my eyes or thine,
But only for those of horn and of wine.
Oh it is known well that Drys did bless
Her children with great humbleness
And a recipe for wine of such sweetness
That others would kill for its flavour fullest.
So wine and grapes of wrath and wit,
Caused the fauns to have run and hid,
In the forest of deepest darkness amid,
Come to the base of the Peaks of Jagged.
Or so it said, for wine is such the best of all,
And it brought a rise before the first fall,
Its the part of us that makes us all call
And jeer and say "let's have a ball!"
And so the faun trekked her tired way,
Though hill and valley by night and day,
She hardly knew what to do or to say
But knew she wanted not to meet the Fae.
Scarcely two steps did she quietly go,
Than from the foliage burst a hoe,
He looked gay and flamboyant, held a bow,
And made his declaration quite the show.
"Attend here," said he, dressed in green.
"What do you here, what do you mean?
To come into this secret place so clean,
That needs none of humans - oh great Queen!"
It was then he looked at our heroine
And saw she was quite the faun, quite thin,
Perfect eyes, knees, hair and perfect chin,
Perfect hooves and perfect furry skin.
"You must come in!" He cried in delight,
"Come out of the shadow of the night.
Oh sister dear of strength and might,
Come into the fauns' final rest from flight!"
And so in she went to perfect Paradisia,
Where the streets are both near and far
And the past is the future, or that's the idea
To have peace here you must hear sincere,
Or listen, if I am being crystal clear,
Please, fair person, lend me your ear,
And learn from this tale oh so dear,
And never enter Concordia by a path of fear.

Together

We are both mortals
In this world
The wind flies with us
The past lies behind us
No longer able to keep up
We run like two survivors
Of an ancient race
Struggling to keep up
With the others of our kind
Charging into the abyss
Nay, charging away from the abyss
Dee dum dee dum
Your body beneath mine,
Your legs carrying us both
But it's
Not sexual in any way
We're just two beasts
In a beastly world
Flying from nothing
Through everything
From nothing but ourselves
Dee dum dee dum dear horse
Carry me away into the future
And let no one find us
When they look
For us

Love before the fall

I'm sorry
For not thinking things through
I don't care
What they say
I'm in love with you.
Trust is a word
An issue
A fact
That needs got over fast
Life goes on
Hard times come
But we will work to
Make love last

Freedom

This is my Scotland
This is my country
Fearless warriors, bold foxes, strong hearts.
This is my Scotland.
When the flag flies high over Holyrood
People see and know
That the pow'r we have is granted
That the strength we have is inherited.
This is my Scotland.
Where the heather grows dry and purple
Where the wind rushes past like hurricanes
Where the joy of the people is undying
And they dance
Whirling in this devilish hootananny.
This is my Scotland.
And I don't mind the Queen
And I don't mind the pound
And I don't mind when the tea is brewed
And I call it British
Good and British
But this is my Scotland
My homeland
And I am as proud of it as my father is as proud of me
I love my Scotland.
I am in my Scotland.
This is our Scotland.
Let her colours fly free.

All my books

In my book of dreams
There are one thousand themes
A thousand genres
That write an epic
In my book of thoughts
There are one thoughts knots
That tie the fate
Of one poor orphan
In my book of ideas
There are one thousand seers
Who predict the future of
An unwell land
In my book of songs
There are one thousand wrongs
To balance every single
Little tight
In my book of plays
There are on thousand ways
A thousand paths
To walk down
In my book of years
There are one thousand angel tears
That captured the essence
Of the evil beast
In my book of myths
There are one thousand will'o'the'whisps
That lead the young girl
To her mother.
In my book of love
There is a single dove
Who brings the story
With her
To all those who will listen.
In my book of hate
Its too late
And the story lies forgotten
Never read.

Extract from "Zoltan" tentative title.

I looked at my brother proudly. My small fourteen-year old heart pounded in my chest, the spirit of all our people with me. At my side I felt the presence of my uncle, likewise as happy as me but more cautious of our presence in the Principalian crowd, and the others behind me. As a group we were the white snow in a blanket of summer, staring up at the procession and following them with glee.

People stared at me, but I did not care. I called out to Frederik with cheerful glee, shouting at him, "Fred, Fred!" and he waved back as he rode past.

The bannerman who had initially bumped into me struggled to get further away, but with the crowd to one side and the procession to the other he could only suffer my joy. My wave blocked part of his vision, my flag blocked his as I waved it erratically, and around us people let out small gasps. But what could you do when you were young, barely a beginner mage and irrevocably and irreversibly admiring of your older brother?

The crowd and the bannerman would just have to suffer and wait. It was my time to love who I was and where I was from, along with my companions who were the lone Narvegans in this ocean of Prominenes.

Things

The love I bear for thee
Is beyond the realms of knowledge
Somewhere in the cosmos
Is a machine that can process
The tenth percent
Then it will suffocate
And die
There is nothing more than existence
Of magma, galaxies and stars
Nurseries, births and deaths
Lego men standing tall
Elves of green and flowers
Yet none of them can compare
To the extraordinary depth of what
Love actually means.