Hypnotic Fantasies Hanging On A Line


Indifference built the walls that locked creativity in.

Self-interest added the wire that compounded that sin.

Expression was apprehended as complacency swallowed the keys

And there was no public trial, and no one listened to the pleas.

Innocence was the next to fall trampled and crushed.

As to the deviance of wickedness all had rushed.

Greed played its hand, and what a hand it held.

Untiringly, invitingly, until all felt compelled.

Step forward compassion with the purest of heart.

“Where do we begin?” it said. “Where do we start?

The battles have been lost that’s true,

But the war is yet to end.

We must stand together as one

And this world we must defend.

This world existed before us and will survive beyond our years.

Put away your diffidence and shed no more tears.

Imagination will be our sword, expressing our eloquent speech,

And innocence it will be you that bursts through their breach.

That which those four bearers of evil has bestowed upon us all

Is now ended and this will be our rallying call:

…….We must conquer and divide. We must succeed this day.

That will be our pledge of allegiance to the God to whom we pray.”

Hope was recalled where deep in memories it lie. 

It joined the side of righteousness and they raised their banner high.

The skirmish was uneven as virtue won the day.

The forces of evil were vanquished and sent far, far away.

But this was just a dream you see, a dream within my mind,

Hypnotic fantasies hanging on a line!


© 2016, Danny Kemp. All rights reserved


About Danny Kemp

I was at work one sunny November day in 2006, stopped at a red traffic light when a van, driven incompetently, smashed into me. I was taken to St Thomas' Hospital and kept in for a while, but it was not only the physical injuries that I suffered from; it was also mental ones. I had lost confidence in myself let alone those around me. The experts said that I had post-traumatic stress disorder, which I thought only the military or emergency personnel suffered from. On good days, I attempted to go to work, sometimes I even made it through Blackwell Tunnel only to hear, or see, something that made me jump out of my skin and that's when the anxiety attacks would start. I told my wife that I was okay and going regularly, but I wasn't. I could not cope with life and thought about ending it. Somehow or other with the help of my wife and medical professionals, I managed to survive and ever so slowly rebuild my self-esteem. It took almost four years to fully recover, but it was during those dark depressive days that I began to write. My very first story, Look Both Ways, Then Look Behind, found a literary agent but not a publisher. He told me that I had a talent, raw, but nevertheless, it was there. His advice was to write another story and that I'm delighted to say, I did. The success of that debut novel, The Desolate Garden, was down to sheer hard work, luck, and of course, meeting a film producer.
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