Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

The gypsies spell
weaves a confusing
tapestry of mystery,

plundered by her
dance, they moved
to the beat of
the drum,

thunderous bass
tones that played
with the blazing
fires at night,

on & on through
the darkness he
pounded while she
cried,

tears that lead to
infinite solitude
while the cold wind
howls.

while the cold wind sighs
not much fervour to blow a house down
hurricane, tsunami, hailstorm and brimstone

a house like a stacked deck
so huge from a distance
so implausible up close

walls of protection
balanced on the shifting sand
a good wind and all is lost

sheik of the burning sands
lettin the hair grow...................

cold winds streaming down the mountain
large vacuum mouth cleansing the air
paying no regard to my frustration -
Nature doing what she must to her house