Wednesday, November 25, 2020

I Was Lost

In October 2007, I left the book shop and took new employment supporting sixth form students in their A-Level studies; I was so shocked and appalled by my own demise from school hero to university zero with all the self-inflicted pain entailed in that fall that I was determined to help as many pupils at or near that transition in their lives to not make the same mistakes I did at that juncture. One of the many perks of the new job (apart from meeting tremendous kids and staff) was that it enabled me to spend time reading whilst I supervised them.

And boy did I start reading, more broadly, widely than ever before across the whole scope of human experience from the Sumerians to present day. Of course I made but small dent in the oeuvre of world literature but I still read and read and read until my brain could take no more of the information and I began to need outlet for all the knowledge I was accruing in my mind. Which brings us to The Magical Kingdom, as stated previously my intended project to compose a handwritten 10,000 pages. 

Each lunch I would head to the flat at the top of the school and begin, continue, add to this epic until by the following year I had completed almost 1,000 pages. Although I would slow as the years rolled past, I did stick to this endeavour until late 2016 so that I had little time for other composition, certainly not stage plays and only four other poems, the first of which was this one that I wrote for my wife on our wedding day. Note the calmness, the serenity, the gentle philosophy all at odds with the madness and gratuity of those other poems I had composed when in seeming love. This was the love of which Saint Paul wrote in Corinthians, patient, kind, without envy, this is I Was Lost...

I was lost, and the world grew stranger around me.
Shapes became shadows, figures fudged,
And other folk blurred indistinct before me.
Then I saw you.
Experience became innocence, preservation healed,
Whilst awareness I had somehow known you in another place, at another time (Perhaps before birth),
Soothed my soul with a balm that eased its distortion till I was able then to walk this globe in peace.

For to tread without love is to stamp in potholes, on branches, over mines,
To march without you is to turn and suddenly find the parade ground empty,
To invite battery from the ghostly foe we know is there but never quite can see.
Imperative it is for us to join in unison, familial, of matrimony, platonic, simple acquaintance,
For Love, like us, must wander, through this world,
And if we stray she too will amble off the track, even though that way be strewn with stinging nettles.
No, we must reside in her breast as she in ours, as companions, friends, partners, lovers, husband and wife,
Knowing that in union between two people one common bond not only joins them as a pair
But suffuses right through the rest their congregation.

I have found, and the world grows warmer around me.

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