Sunday, 19 September 2010


I’ve an image of an apple
On the head of vast man, who stands

Undaunted by the quick
Distance of his past adventures.

In a clearing ahead of him
There is a shimmer of a thinner kind,

And an arrow in the bow
Of a small apostle who has to loose it

And hit his mark without
The use of sight or sound or texture,

And though wretched
In the face of this thankless task

The disciple takes his time,
Assesses the line of his trajectory,

And fires his dart of hope
Into the gap that stretches onwards,

Convinced that the faith
Of his conviction will guide his shaft

Of light into the heart
Of his intended target, thus imparting

The fire of insight towards
The night sky and splitting in half

The fruit of ruination that
Was placed upon the minds of men.

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