Hebrides
HEBRIDES
Big waves crash on a Hebrides shore,
Horizontal rain slashes the rocks.
There’s no shelter here, not even a crack,
There’s no wood here, and nothing to burn:
Frost giants hurl slivers of ice.
The sun will rise twelve hours from now,
But by then, they say, the snow will be
Knee deep, and nearly slush.
I’m dry enough, but stranded atop
A granite pinnacle miles from shore.
Yesterday I clambered up
To say farewell and then to leap;
But now I can’t, and the coward man
Whimpers and lives for no good reason.
They’d rule a fall from here an accident,
Insurance claims would pay my bills
And spare my family funeral costs.
The fall, I think, a moment of terror,
But actually, not much pain.
And as for the afterlife –
Rosicrucians say
I’d repeat the same act over and over and over
Falling into a self-created hell.
But escape,
That’s not an option.
Friends look at me and say:
“Better choices you need to make:
You’re not paralyzed from the neck down,
Retching from intestinal cancer,
Helpless in bed with chemical burns,
You haven’t lost a wife or a child
To a tsunami or a terrorist attack,
You’re not foaming with addictions
Or exposed in shame on national TV,
So what’s your problem?”
TRAPPED! I tell you, I’m trapped
Inside the same old wretched self,
In a prison too small for the animal life
The monkey and the otter praying to play
In sunflower fields abounding in streams
Where fountains sparkle joyously
And rainbows lift the sky to the sun –
Away from the hamster chained to a log,
Away from the failures and toxic romances,
Away from the husbands choking their wives,
Away from the igloos buried in ash,
Away from
Away from
Away from
Away from the hollow men
Pulling the strings.
Copyright © Gawaine Ross | Year Posted 2015
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