on the road to the isles

ON THE ROAD TO THE ISLES

 

Numbed by this alien terrain,

where truth spells a montony

of rain, we ride entombed

 

towards our Shangri-La.

 

Each fresh horizon

taunts the tired eye,

echoes the fretful sense

 

of hours gone by.

 

A weariness pervades

this no-man’s land.

 

*****

 

Go West young man!

We make our final fling –

 

turning to be embraced

by fire. The mist resorbed,

light’s pan-theophany

 

revives a blighted mind.

 

Rainbows and thunderfall engrave

their echoes on the boundary

of our wonderment, refresh

 

a dormant sense.

The sky line seethes –

sun sanctified.

 

*****

 

White, searing, the unseen sun

burns from the core

of mountains, transforms

 

a shroud of haze

into a panoply of light.

Rocks swallowed by, still seize

 

upon this shimmering –

a spectral residue

of more torrential times.

                                                               Malcolm Evison

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