The Calling
poetic scribble by Bob Axell 2009

A telephone fell down from the sky
Out of the igorant blue
And it's ringing is still heard for miles
But there is nothing we can do

The signals never weaknen
The signals never fade
At night we hear them whisper
On days we hear them wail

But there is noone to pickup
This godforsaken phone
Many men have tried and failed
And thus it rests alone

Atop the great mount Chutterney
Awaiting the hero to rise
That can once again answer the call
Or cast it back up into blue skies

But so far such a hero is unexistant
His spot vacant and empty like a pit of quicksand
We hope that the widening world has listened
Tothe signals that scream from our land

And while the phone keeps ringing night and day
We wait for a brave warrior to come and slay
The demons that possess this phone some say
That it is the reincarnation of all evil