Emerging, hat pulled down scarf pulled up.
All he has seen, all he has touched, lost.
No, not lost but held in the recesses of his mind.
What will enlighten, thaw and bring into being conjectures from sunnier times, Can he still bring to mind such feelings filled with joy.
Tripping to his knees he curses to himself.
‘Luck beyond mercy I shall see it through’
Thought now have sound showing white against the biting air.
‘And shall this spring never again be tapped but left run free under its own devices. For I shall sling my soul upon the hearth of time, to be re-forged, made new, made strong. My spirit rising unshackled from this frost ladened tomb. For I shall never beg to be a reality slave because now is a single life throughout forever.’
This winter long that cast dulled reactions calls upon the stumbling wreck.
‘Many a time have I dragged you on, only to sink deeper, until the quagmire kisses your gasping breath. Testing your being, testing your understanding, a trial unto yourself. Now that might happen, see it into being. Let meadows drip with morning drew, Bluebells sing in harmony with woodland life and ancient Oak, wide of girth, and as solid as the Mother she hugs, show her foliage to the warming light.’
Languished between compromise to do right and survival to live, his persona deepens, thrusting him upon life, jewelled, rich, encrusted, waiting to ored free.
To splinter colour into shared reflections of himself.
In joyful hope, knowing the fall may be greater.
phil francis
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