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Listen, Please, By: Jonathan Conde

May 2, 2024 by Jonathan Conde

Listen, Please, By: Jonathan Conde

My heads currently still surrounded by the echo of the voice of a female singing acoustic solos in a 500 year old room.

We can’t safely presume who’s been in there before, but it does feel safe to assume many of their ghosts still haunt York.

At least allow the room for thought.

Listen, please. I walk, and as I do speak to many species of birds and I have hopes for them on this earth, and I say hi to the stain glasses community on the way to my feet finding cobbled stone, also 500 years old, conceivably.

Summer sun, & young trees planted on paved streets provide synergy yet there’s barely enough led free air to breathe, in between getting poisoned by the food we eat, literally. Who owns the roof fiddlers dangling from?

Who has the rights to the song your soul sings?

Who paints better from the heart than a boy with a blank page and a great imagination?

Who tells you the truth you need the sooth, the news, the sage, the politician or the turn of the page underneath the conditions of candle light and wood fires?

Listen, please.

All that was lost is not yet gone, all that we need can be found inside of a song, a glance of an eye, or some charade’s.

A nice thought that makes you smile whilst you stroll down the deep parade.

A sunset that reminds you of distant days.

A hill walk that you crave, a waterfall and some caves.

I came here to play.

From the first to my last day.

A fixed gaze on layers of upturned truths exposed, youth chosen and sold and put to sleep before the chance to grow.

Who am I supposed to thank?

The think tank decides on our behalf and informs us of our thoughts on mass.

I’ve passed go.

Listen, please, I whole heartedly harness the hardness and darkness at the earths lip where it’s harshest, whilst shackled & chained.

Shaded illusions deceive & prescribe blame, but the good fight remains.

Democracy is shambolic shame but resources are the same if we can re-think the foolish lessons we believed.

I believe in rivers and streams, and randomly ranting about the beauty of trees.

Listen please, I came here to play.

From my first till my last day.

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