Wednesday, October 14, 2020


Short post today after the analytical effort of yesterday's poem; so, if the loss is felt severely enough then the spectre of depression begins to loom. It can of course be dispelled but if it lingers and takes hold then a general gloom and despondency starts to press down upon the soul such that normal daily activity becomes a struggle.

In my own case, I was at university with friends living the unhealthy lifestyle many students succumb to in their often first time away from home; a large part of this included consumption of alcohol which again in my instance only exacerbated the melancholy I was feeling after my loss. And unfortunately, matters began to unravel from there such that one night I found myself hallucinating, something of which I try to capture in my next poem, Visions...

I thought I saw the way. I bellied on amid the glare through blinding golds and greens,
Then rent asunder by the flash I raised my hands up high.
What is this curse I bear which no one seems to know, this constant gaze
Into another world of misery and hate?
Glimpses sometimes, future flashes of a place ahead,
A time for us the people when nothing good, no great at all exists,
Where evil's miracle reigns supreme and the fabulous
Knocking of my mind creates a welter of mockery and spite.

I closed my eyes but the visions grew inside,
Striking arrows deep inside my head,
Flying at the nerve ends of my brain,
Reaching to touch and pull and twist and tie and cut.
Severed in turn but still the images grew,
Faint at first and shallow, a glance, a stare, a face of fear, a cry for help,
Then after that the shadows fell around about,
Great blocks of silver grey passing throughout my sight.
Surely these are the ravings of my tortured mind,
My low tide colouring these thoughts?
Why else would I see the end, the time of darkness
When all people live in the shadow of paralysing nameless dread?
It must be so.

But what if my curse is gift disguised,
Telling me to tell all what is to come?
What must I do? Must I write and turn the pages of a history
That dictates no method in my madness,
Else stand upon the highest peak, the tallest tower, biggest stage
And spout pontification's lesson to the rabble?
I can't. I would be harried, stung, stoned,
Hanged for treason of the foulest kind, betraying human nature.
Didn't those who wrote the words that set in stone
The power of a super state believe in people's good, people's great,
None of which I see? Yet they are, they really are the building blocks
That house us all, foundations which we've placed to mark our course,
And no wind, earth or fire will ever shift them from their place,
The rock of all our souls. This is mankind's greatest good,
His tendency to live, survive and understand what ails and what aids.
This and this alone will be my vision, that my race is noble,
Full of grace and ever faithful to itself until the end.
There, that is a pleasant dream.

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