slightly ashamed to admit that the title for this poem was overheard on a dr.phil show...
anyway, i have been reading quite a bit about the fairy faith and folklore in celtic countries so thats what kind of inspired this poem
I do not march to the beat of your words,
your dreams, in which there are no orange groves.
What is it you have to say for yourself?
What is it you have to show for yourself?
but two daffodil yellow chicks, necks wrung,
in your leather hands
Beyond all sleep, you crawl into the night
Searching for the doe and the stag
antlered with gold,
their tribal dance,
out their rage,
their glistening hooves
on ancestral soils.
with your muslin,
your brandished steel,
the cracks are crumbling,
the forgotten seeping through
You besieger, become the besieged.