Out There, Somewhere

View from Ivinghoe Beacon this Sunday morning - image (c) SJ Murphy

Heavy, stinging, bloodshot eyes
looking out on a world –

distorted –

woven with strands of fairground music.

The Waltzer swirling thoughts violently
inside a moss covered rock –

distorted –

canals, crevasses of ice sided cliffs:

impossible to climb; hands and feet
keep slipping, falling deeper –

abstracted –

Picasso expressed abstract – unique among fools.

Foolish attempts to exhume all
but the very crystal of being –

abstracted –

the Dove has hope encased in his thin black collar

buried –

opened when found – by then it’s too late.

And the Song Thrush sings
a tune
of merriment

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17 thoughts on “Out There, Somewhere

  1. Steve! I love the icy imagery you’ve laced throughout this piece. Strong and free-flowing language makes it a joy to read aloud…but there are shadows here, that lends a definite mystery to the write.

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