I see the light, I feel the fire,
Piously burning as the souls of tired
Adventurers search for the valleyʼs heaven –
Mystical, avenging, uneventful mode,
Still fearing callousness of heart yet
Hoping then, as now, but even fonder
For the tireless stream of memories to come.

I cry for time, I know the signs,
Hindering all mortal, meaningless thought,
All frigid dying sanctities of mind;
For those who overthrow shall be divine,
But not as this, for now they are dry
As dusty bread, and shall remain only
To feed the soberly judged, the captive soul.

I wish to rise, in death of mind,
To be the hinge on the prophetʼs door,
And as such to ponder on the wise
And smile, as a child, at the blind.
Clarity in death of fostered fears,
Flowing like a hundred intermingled loves,
As one, free for life, in beautyʼs web.


October 1976 (as amended)
© Michael G Reid 1976-2011