I recall staying at your warm abode,
with ankle broken; awareness rising
in rambling streets besides waves crashing,
in this loved, loved county with heavy load.
Within this creative, dreaming hub:
moulding houses for penniless folk,
hurting, moth-eaten, seams-fraying folk,
mostly ignored, much easier to snub.
Yet, as I lay, skin flaking in pot,
I listened to gentle keys, soft voice,
of one who saw pain, who sung amongst us
of sorrow, of sadness, of our bleak lot.
Dreaming of fairer land, utopia;
out of this semi…quasi…distopia.
Sonnet 29 of 100
I’ve mainly been posting on my facebook page, so I have a few weeks worth of stuff to catch up on here. Here’s a little bit of background with regards to the above sonnet:
I’ve been privileged to know Kezzy for a few years. Though we haven’t spoken at length for a while, I’ll never forget her thoughtfulness, her observation and gentle persona. These personality traits are so evident in her music: rich, sad songs that so beautifully paint pictures of reality.
A couple of years back, around the time I broke my ankle whilst living in Cornwall, I bought her first EP. I listened to it over and over again as I lay in a state of brokeness. And I still listen to it. There’s not enough words to express how her music finds the perfect balance between stalwart-robustness and gossamer-fineness.