Erroll played in the Band

Slack with wind
Gloom and doom were out leveraged by bloom, for still trees

leave us

with honey bees, sunflower seeds

and lifted images, beckoning peace.

The weather is temporary
and burden wavers with will.

Grandiose, as it were.
Young, elegant and ornate feet tread a sullen path upon the fair concrete.
Overlapping, eroding and deleting the footsteps of those,

who only years ago

awoke and peered out windows, to see the wind blow
from a garage,

or smokey club.

The cinematic interludes that delved and danced amongst the heart's embraces.


It was cosmic. She and him.

A smoke filled ballroom,

a drum sounding off the heart's beat...within chest, and without.

A guitar licks, like tongues flick in kisses.
When all is fog, but the sound and its blisses.

And the wind,

the wind and the whine,
and the day,

left behind.

She was golden,
he was stolen,

the moment...sifted away, like sand.

All that they had.

was the sound of Erroll,
who played in the band.