Subtle colours merged soft contours - Safe Haven / Standing Stone

Subtle colours merged soft contours

stretched in welcome as the ship drew near.

His first bare step on mustard sand

was wiped by whim of wave.

Flickering birdsong.

A bank of grassy moorland rose to distant ridge.

Ancient olive, bright young lime,

and further purple mountain peaks

breathed echoes of the melody.

He stalked through swelling heather

to the ridge's tip to sip

the fresh world's news.

Flanked by juniper and birch

a long flung track strung out below,

and wound to smoky settlement,

nested in blue foothills.

Two natives drove a flock of umber sheep

along this burnt sienna road.

A beautiful woman, from whose throat

the haunting song had come.

A bearded man with snowish hair, her father,

who had witnessed his arrival in a ship of glass

that disappeared as fast as it had come.

These companions walked with his joy

towards the settlement and spoke

of how they'd long expected him.

Still as stones that lined their path

this shepherd's daughter listened to his story.

Her father sang of local life and introduced

each character and scene.

Farmer, warrior, milkmaid, thief,

shaman, housewife, woodsman, fool.

They made him welcome and, before he slept

agreed to help him hoist his stone.

On sun smacked days they traced his steps

to plant a giant slab of sea beat rock.

Rope and muscle, sweat and tackle

raised a weathered finger to the sky.

Soon this sacred stone bedded in its depths

the aspirations of their anxious souls.

A place of peace where he and she would meet.

But as their hearts rehearsed and played a set

of new found harmonies and chords,

black horse rider rode throughout the night

with news that set the settlement alight.

Off ragged Northern coast

a rugged gang of bandits gathered.

Dark longships flashed with metal.

Thud of boot, belt, hull and oar,

a storm of fighters swarmed ashore.

Panic scampered through the peoples' veins.

Poisoned rats in a pot of grain.

The visitor fell still to seek an answer.

The shepherdess, his love,

took him

to the standing stone

and poured an ancient potion.

A backward somersault of senses.

Cool breezes

fruit blossom fragrance rippled air

chiming towers ran slow hours,

fluttering calm.

And drifted, drifted.

Long spiralled colours twisted

sinuous dance of snake and vine.

She left him to his slab of stone.

He watched its towered rush

scratch at the moon.

Fanned flames flicked up tongues.

Lichen crawled with lunar cloud reflections.

As rampant hoards rode tidal waves of

blood red water

down centrifugal highway

he was tossed and smackly landed

on the sudden floor.

He looked up and saw

a spirit force stretch easy into space

so powerful he trembled and believed.

Head bowed he slipped in trance wet sheets.

Slow whirlwind, silent thunderstorm,

and breezeless hurricane. He cried out.

A wall of peeled back veils revealed

a face unlike another.

Visions, visage, gentle, genteel,

Masculine mouth, female eyes.

A face to steal.

The mouth spoke, slower than words.

"You were sent to help the people here.

Their invaders greatest fear

is that the sky will fall.

Say you'll make this happen

and in two days time the moon will be eclipsed."

Awake he found himself

a crumpled scrap beneath

the upright stack of stone.

Black clouds rolled the moon.

As milkmaid warriors made futile preparations

to defend against attack

their newcomer was welcomed back

with sceptical acclaim.

He told to those who would be told,

then rode

into the enemy domain.

Deriding scowls lined his arrival.

Wolf eyes soldier drunk, with stagnant breath,

press to hear his threat

to make the sky collapse

unless their troops retreat.

The leader's belly heaved, he laughed and spat:

"before I skewer and feed you to these apes

go tell your tribe, within three days they'll be my slaves."

Thunder tore apart a sheet of sky.

Hard laughter swallowed dust

as hero sped to anxious settlement.

The villagers made crude defences

huddled in a circle round the stone.

Lambs listened for the dog pack howl.

Long blown hours scattered charcoal grey

above the rag-bag armies' quickened pulse.

A sudden moon illuminates.

They crouch with bucket, beam, and bench

in fortress ring until

night sang

jang of juggernaut's approach.

"I will make the sky collapse…"

First person sprang and roared

"unless you take your army back"

Some stumbled, stopped,

but most slunk on, shamed

by their leaders mocking curse.

The sky grew black magnetic.

Black air cracked electric.

A drape was dragged across the moon.

In howling darkness some trampled, tripped,

but all ran, chased by children to the laughing sea.

*Lyrics taken from the whole of Movement III - Subtle Colours Merged Soft Contours