The icy hand of thought and deed long past
Constricts my heart at every step and slows
My feet to a hesitant halt. The shadows cast
By dead events blight many a budding rose.
For acts I left undone, what wasted sighs
For spite indulged, what gnaw of sad remorse;
My doubts spawn anxious fears as I analyse
And trace the stream of evil to its sources.
To break the iron gripe of yesterday
I trample on the past and turn my eyes
To morning sun whose glory will not stay,
But like a bird forever onward flies.
By stepping on the countless selves I've slain,
I reach the heights and touch the stars again.
I found this poem amongst my cuttings. I don't know the author and can't find it on Google. I have a feeling that it could be by a Douglas Baker from the early 70s. I have a note by the poem about The Nature of the Soul which Baker often wrote about. For some reason it hit a note with me today.
Powerful poem. The fact that you found it today must mean that you benefit from the lift!ReplyDelete
love this piece, mike - interesting you post it today because the "countless selves slain" reminds me somewhat of a piece i just posted over at my words unspoken blog - anyway, very neat piece - and i love when we find something and it resonates so with us in that particular moment as this poem did with you -ReplyDelete
have been away a while - first packing and moving and long road trip and now computer issues on both computers! bahhumbug! but it's wonderful to at least have my laptop back today so i can get out and about in the universe a bit -
have a great day!
not much into poetry mike a bit too deep for meReplyDelete
As a poet, I felt it my duty to try and find out who penned this wonderful piece, to no avail. Thank you for sharing Mike.ReplyDelete