Carnival Escapology

                                Image of  Notting Hill Carnival.
                                ( Where I returned from earlier, me old mate ken sent me)

Sometimes the weight of the world
feels like an inflatable balloon, filled,
                                      with tears,
leaving a permanent scar,
like a tatooists signature.

But cordial jet streams, pass upstream too
heaving with notations, admission price zero,
turning down streets, flowing with rum
the afternoon thunders along, with the pulse
                                              of adventure.

We join a carnival, follow sweet, perfumed air
a procession of celebration, high on hope,
dancing to the throb of bass and drum
voices laugh and sing, together we dance
as strong community spirit, is shared.

We drift, deeper and deeper
get lost in mists of perambulation,
to find  the source within to rekindle
                                        and save,
to store in our hearts, waves of spirit
that we hope, may never be erased,
from the rivers to the sea
in synchronisation we are free.