24 December, 2007 at 16:41 (Uncategorized)

Happiness takes more than the wave of a fairy wand,
I may claim contrariwise on occaision,
But my wand not-waved with deliberation.
I am alone on the moors, watching,
Easier to take pleasure on the outskirts,
than right here in the middle.
Golden, thats what it is and golden means nothing less,
than champagne at the end of all my days,
and I will drink it all the time,
the trick is, to know when the wand makes champagne,
right there out of cherry coke,
and when you have to buy Moet yourself.
Such trappings of civilisation,
were I truly faery, I could drink bubbles from a brook,
and never notice what form it took,
only joyous golden light in this stream.
But I am what I am and nothing more or less,
and in this dream I only golden seem,
for I am purest greed. Desire such as never felt by faery,
Faery is what is and nothing more,
selfless are the acts of faery, and I am what I am and wanting more,
So take away this cherry coke, this Moet and chandon hell,
I am too greedy and all for this,
when I can lie alone on a purple moor and be in heaven,
whence came my indulgent desire for purest bliss?
Civilisation happened and took my moors,
my love and lover and love has lasted still,
and I am happiest when with another,
but still a part of me goes to climb the hills.


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