In the night comes a glow of a thousand sparks <br />Lighting joys which pass through the brooding mind <br />Of a hovering shade. There are boys, there are girls <br />Entwined in the dark where illicit smoke swirls, <br />Burning back tiredness and sleep. There are lines <br />Linking limbs, binding fine softnesses <br />Into a freedom, a communal preference <br />Wheeling and winding, gleaming and shining <br />Past laws and gender. An arc, a quintessence, <br />A lark in the heart. Only the wilfully <br />Blind pass untouched. But it frightens. It glides <br />Like a song round the spirit, confiding, enticing. <br />The grass is too sweet. Only the wide eyed can guide <br />Us, can find where we hide and stir us to seeing <br />And hearing. Look. They have turned back the tide <br />Of unbeing. They come, glossy-thighed, to welcome <br />Us in through the rind of the world.. It is time.<br /><br />Richard Blanch<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/and-all-the-grass-is-as-the-flesh/
