Red Kite

Red wine, soaring,
Rising, lifting, gliding, carries
The roaring heat of
Hope and expectation.
The red kite of the imagination
Expansive as the sky.

I thought you were strong,
A discerning hunter.
Preying with a glass-bead
View of my elation from
Berkshire to the coast.
You feed upon my broken dreams
Dead days, butchered hours.
Your power to raise will always swoop eventually
To scavenge upon the devestation of my half life.

If I remain in these open fields of
Neon bars and glasses that like your wings
Tempt sunlight into ruby,

Then all the ruined years will one day lie.
My throbbing veins, excited nerves
Will break and become
Your carrion
As the stench of my requiem
Becomes the banquet
You conquer, claim, devour.

20.11.2005
rev 16.03.2006