The Pied Piper of Anti-Society

He came one day, and broke our doors down;
Soundly and calmly he came
for what we cling to and hold dear,
our last illusion of safety-
-when the streets are dangerous,
“not just at night” and the country is unpredictable-
-the home of our houses.

We take comfort in them,
in our unsafe, uncertain society
A man’s home is his castle
and to children they are safe;
we build ourselves the image
of an impenetrable  sanction, oasis
which is at the same time
Welcoming, and warm.

Nothing is safer than our wooden doors
with thin glass panels
Our thin windows,
as long as the key is turned and
the tiny bolt of metal slides across.

For people do not break into houses-
especially not when you’re home,
it’s not done.  though it could be,
A psychological society thing, I suppose,
(and a fear of being caught-
not the punishment, but the
disapprovement of… everyone else,
becoming and outsider.)

But he cared not.

He was bored out of gold which cares
not for money;
never cared what other minds thought
but sought only to make them happy
or show them the world outside their comfort zones.
He bent our locks,
Broke through windows with one bound fist,
Very serenely and naturally,
for it was an everyday thing for him.
He smiled, invited himself in
Complimented my mother’s figure,
Made himself at home, sat down
And accepted stilted offerings of a drink,
Asking for black tea.

(We knew nothing else than to offer a visitor drinks,
but no-one had ever asked before!
The accepted answer being “I’ll have whatever
you’re having.”)
He declined a spoon,
set aside the saucer,
and held his mug fully in both hands to warm them.
He added sugar with his fingers
And shook his dandruff out
on our black leather sofa, delighting
in its volume, lightness, and patterns.

Mother was scandalised.
He paid her more compliments,
then invited us all out with him into the world
To live life.
And show it to others.

I was the only one willing.  He smiled at my parents,
crushed the phone, and left.
Like a Pied Piper he led a crowd
of people dancing, singing,
some naked
many in love
mostly young and very old.

I loved him, and we found him wonderful,
but I did not entirely trust him.
And rightly so.
For he was unpredictable, wild,
Like a swirl of wind lifting dead leaves
to make them dance.
He did what he pleased,
broke laws, rules and superstition alike.
Nothing was inappropriate and we
each other

August ’05


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This blog is the collection of my poetry and prose, in chronological order from most recent to oldest.

Constructive critique is actively encouraged!

I am usually singing words as well as writing them, and make lots of other art. You can find me & my other art at any of the below links. x

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