HowellJack

We are two. We are one. We sway between planes voices, subjects and places. We follow each other. We stop, start, stare, grieve, and silence. One streams, exclaims. The other screams, condemns. One melts, arrogance consumes. The other burns, apathy exhumes. We are the collective. We are separate. We are you.

 As four horsemen dive into the stone, Light blossoms from a seedling thrown, The sour earth, so wounded heaves, And releases a shining sprouting through leaves. As ashes splinter from your scars, settle on the barren world Resting, waiting, a shallow wind's dreams take hold. Freed into the smouldering air, a cooling Embeds within minds, tranquillity returns your song. Above the bones of a million sons a now dying fire curls and hauls Among a compass, a gun, now dead it falls. Through joy and laughter you are consumed with love, Your child's soul free of her mother's rage. Beyond the gaping stone no longer seems lost, Barren

Desperation, fear; strings play, grasses sway, a crying girl fights the day - through a door, push, smash. Tears ground, consume, kill, away! Faster, play; A young fiddler paves her way, through fields, chased, tormentors drum, scream, close, eyes clouded with fear, doubts - There! The tree, a swish of hair alerts the three, rush; run; hold; bang, the air is split with the sound of a gun. The fiddle ends, the tune stops, shattered wood fall near legs of capri, guilt seeps in the hands of the Three as girl slept near the roots of the tree, Oh why does my drum still belong to me?