Castaway

 

Castaway

 

Beyond the rolling waves, in the corners of my mind
Thunder rolls in ripples on the lake of all mankind.
Somewhere in the recess of my pupil dotted eyes,
You can almost see the purple dawn of those forbidden skies.
Those are the realms of all I am – the waters I baptised,
The sound of love, of lust and dreams, the grit of silent cries.
Through my flesh, my blood and bones, beyond all conscious thought
Hands of gods and demons, in fires white-hot have wrought
This glimmer of existence – my inner ‘sacred spark’
The part of dawn that lingers on, and never knows the dark.

 

 

© Marion Grace Woolley 2011