After the feast was over
When the boulders had crashed onto the table
And the birds came out to eat the crumbs
And the snake coiled itself up to sleep
And the rebuilding work was underway
And the naked bodies hung in the sky like rain
And the blood of the meat was splashed like graffiti on the wall
And the wine could not find another vein
And all the hero’s had left their seats and gone their separate ways
And the dust settled right up to the roof
And we wandered about the sand with only the myth
And we looked for the gate that was gone
And we searched for the table that was sawdust
And hope took us into the wilderness like starving sheep
And the signs pointed to a storm out at sea
And darkness finally covered over our bones
And the epitaphs on our tombs read – born too late
once again I was thinking about the decade of the 1960’z when we were overloaded with a cultural feast, up to today, when it’s obvious that it’s gone for good now.
