Wednesday, 1 August 2012

The Trust Stone

   

If I wake up whilst you sleep,
to talk to ghosts
that keep keys
to the treasure chest,
there can only ever be more;
not less;
want and hope in me.

See, I have been told a thousand things:
‘gentle fairy’, ‘incubus’, ‘angel
without wings’…’star-voyager’,
‘heaven-sent prize’, ‘the sky is
green when I look in your eyes’…

I could only conclude they were
all untrue…as I watched the Trust-Stone
crumble into the bluest depths of sea,
and I turned all their boats away
from me, and my savage island of sand,
reaching for the next
pilgrim hand, perhaps different
this time…

So if I toss and turn and
sigh, and check beside me so now
and then,
it can only
really be said,
I never heard the rocks falling before.
I didn’t have time to run,
and bolt my ever-open doors, before their edges
put scars on my soul;

and though I welcome
each
new boat that moors here
as though I have never seen one,
that hanging rock
still weighs some
and few have had courage
to sit beside me,
beneath it,
and keep no secrets…

Despite the danger, I
shall never leave it,
for some day soon
I hope to lay down bricks here,
watch the waves
and see how near they lap;
and I will need my patched-up
trust-stone (and the truth) as foundation,
for you cannot build on sand to last.
   

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