He stands startled
In a sequestered corridor
Slender and meandering
Like a swan neck, a champagne flute
He takes a step
Heavy with dread
Down this hall of thought
This stem of philosophy
A conduit, a pipe of dreams.
He didn’t want this
Never wanted to be here
Unrelated, quiet
Impervious to nearness
And cold as a death rattle.
Where is the sunshine?
How far is tomorrow from
All his yesterdays?
Yesterday is the sound
Of a rose blooming
Its red thundering like chariots
Into the dark of today
Dried and dusty
A crumble of neglect.
He can’t recall
Can’t pull it together
And the weave unravels
And falls in coils
Under concrete feet
Under a spell
Where lies are whispered
So very well
And darkness boils in
Like storm clouds.
Strip it bare
Release the echoing reverb
Into fresh air
Set him free
Let his thoughts spread out
Into everywhere
And the lies disappear
Let the truth line up
And speak order
Repair.
(C) 2010 Tasha Chinnock