This grey road mingles into the intertwining
green limbs of the mossy tree’s over-head;
Our beastly beige car navigates the course of
the free flowing river; all flowing with
The Shournagh line.
The road, that grey snake of progress and the urban;
Making its mark on the once un-spoilt undergrowth;
Making its mark on it and me and me with cause and effect.
Along the Shournagh Line.
Those wooden forms stand like those who first invaded them tall and erect;
Deeper from green to gold to the setting sun; twigs and branches
greet me like an old friend coming home.
Those human forms blur in the cold grey sky;
Leaves of what is left from the other side fall;
Deeper from grey to the white of that smile;
Arms greet me like an old friend coming home.
Which is the entrance and which is the exit?
Which is the better end?
This portal has many twists and turns;
Trials and tribulations.
I learn from the grey of concrete structures and the people that make it gold;
Green is where I come from I have observed its treasure;
Monsters of elf and man reside;
Heroes of these creatures also;
Brown or gold?
Which is which?
On the Shouragh Line.
Grey and emerald come as one;
Contrary is that fact;
Green and grey are my ink and my actions;
Leave and brick am I;
Portal to the divine;
As you and I dear brother;
Ride on the shimmering Shournagh Line.