The unseen

 All is a portrait.
A masterpiece to persuade,
There is something more.
That intangible who inhabits silence.
Beyond our own rhetoric and the need to comply.

Triangular trees shedding forgotten leaves,
Rain dripping from naked branches,
And scurrying creatures who have only themselves to please.
Strange screeching of fleeing things,
Echo beneath the rising of a fulsome moon.
Absurd stars hang like stickers in the sky.
Glued on by some drunkard's hand,

In the splendour of this glory.
I think we need a new language.
Not these tired old city words.
Which are soft and worthless.
We need something ancient,
Something primal,
That howls from the belly of our soul.