Saturday, 14 August 2010


Out in the countless battalions
Of foot soldiers,
Elbowing their way through the ranks,
I stand,
British bulldog straight,
Debating whether to stay and take them on,
Or step aside as they advance
And announce the victory of circumstance.

Every second that passes
The masses increase,
And I need a cease fire from this line
As soon as possible
In order to cross the immeasurable
Space that separates us;
The one that cannot be gauged by knowing
The paces to the end of town and back.

Every face is yours my love,
Every shape and size,
Every eye, every fleeting expression;
An army of clones
Reminding me that one more day
Has gone without the dawn
Of your status replacing the autonomy
Of mortals who are but visions of your divinity.

And although fate’s game
Has got us together
It keeps us apart at the present,
And resentment
Can’t be used to crucify its actions;
It’s up to me to break free
Of the gathering and lift the iceberg
Tips of our touch out of the world’s water.

No comments:

Post a Comment