A Cage To Hold My Dreams
A Broxbourne Evensong
The lazy swell of easy flowing water
is Broxbourne's answer to a troubled world,
whilst far away the guns keep up their slaughter
her restfulness is a flag of truce unfurled
within our troubled world. A brief delay
between the cries of now and yesterday
I stroll and find escape, lulled by the set
of evening's yawning sun. A distant tower
salutes the darkening heavens, its silhouette
of grey on yellow chimes the magic hour
of summons for the rook to seek his nest
and furry creatures under meadows rest.
Yes, I am troubled. God, it seems, has turned
his back on all our anguish and confusion
In spite of all the lessons cruelly learned
a carefree mind remains a lost illusion.
We drag our chains along life's narrow ledge,
one step, no more, from falling over the edge
to instant death. Abandoned spirits cry
for understanding, and some lucky breaks
for those who will come later. From the sky
we'll see re-runs of all our worst mistakes
A world in slow decline, its values shorn
awaits each new, bewildered infant born.
Yet here, in Broxbourne's calm, it seems absurd
that these unsettling thoughts should be allowed
to cross the mind. For here the only word
is solitude. Now distanced from the crowd
whose herd-cries always chill me to the bone
for an hour or two, at least, I am alone.
Too soon, alas, this quiet night will end,
this night which reassures me I'm alive
At the office desk, tomorrow, I'll pretend
I've found no better reason to survive
than earning wages, knowing in my head
if that is all there is, I'm better dead.
When love has gone, as go I'm sure it will
For I have not the means to make it stay
I'll walk beside this stream when the air is still
remembering all the things I saw today
when nature wore its coat of subtle green
and nothing ugly dared to intervene.
Broxbourne, Hertfordshire 080776
