You fall from the sky
down the stairs of broken globes
And as you do
the second star, perfect son of the moon
blows you home to become a man.
Caught amongst the world's branches
your shoulders rubbing raw from the bark
Hyde Park picks you up and sets you on your feet
sets you your way home
throw cock feathers at your head, goading you home.
Dirt under your nails
the bark dust and the sand of Neverland still in your hair
you trod, barefoot.
People watch a grubby youth walk by
half naked with only trousers made of leaves and grass.
Only I and the second star know why you weep.
Why did you sacrifice your innocence, your throne of childhood bliss?
Why give a fairy
Their mouths are full of lies
and their hands stink of rotting stars.
Kiss the mermaid girls, at least their sharp teeth will cut you quick.
But no, you kissed a fairy lady,
who's sharp little eyes and tinkling laugh will cut you
like a pin, day by day until heaven and hell will never, never claim your lost soul.
Thrown out of Neverland you were
a traitor to its proud creed
no longer privy to its peacock daydreams
its fleshy, watery terrors.
Oh Peter! You fell from the sky and the second star blew you home.
You walk unsteadily down unlit streets
feeling naked without your wooden sword.
The sky does not even whisper your name.
The clouds do not form and thunder
and run at your beck and call
Silly little man, this is not your Neverland.
Another little child, fallen from his carriage
Has taken your throne, fashioned his own crown out of
Pirate hooks, and will never learn to crow
Now this earthy air is colder than you remember
as whiffs of happiness flit down London alleyways
like rotting fairy feet
but to become a man you must put away your childish things.
Accept the darkness Pan.
I am woman now
and kisses are as plentiful as thimbles in my house.
For in my arms there is pain enough
and joy enough to break and mend your thorny heart.