You remember the time–when you were a certain age–collecting for the bonfire was a big thing—every spare moment after school was spent gathering wood–building huts–fighting off rivals—and staying out all night to protect it. It became your only focus in life for those two weeks after school finished at the end of June until the night the bonfire was lit. You took a “piece” out of the house rather than leave your post—you became so attached that you didnt want it to be set on fire………………
A Kingdom of Pallets
Timber stacked high—an edifice to the sky
A labour of love—months in the making
Blood—and sweat-and tears-and tears- and fret
And frayed clothes and nerves and backs ready for breaking.
Like ants we scramble to the summit and review
Our wooden kingdom distended far beneath
And marvel at the effort and endeavour
Basking in the glory of the Empire at our feet.
Proficient in the skills required to build
A structure that won’t stand the test of time
A configuration of lumber, sticks and kindling
A mountain—that is ours alone to climb.
We linger in defiance of the moment
Rebel against the once appointed time
Stall in an instance of non compliance
And postpone the sure and downward climb.
And gaze from a distance when finally grounded
Eyes moist and faces still as figurines
Despondent that our realm should turn to ashes
Downhearted –thinking of our smouldering dreams.