My English summer-
A supposed hope
tempted in fields of golden wheat
and dusted chaff with gallant images
cursing what I have been told.
There is a resonance here of what I am
and what I am to be.
And I find myself at the Thames-
watching, floating as I go by.
The drab echoes of lost centuries and forgotten causes
do not cease within me-
And still I push harder, faster-
watching as I go by.
And when I find cover in the rain,
not from it-
I know only then that I am myself.
I have been the Rose waiting to be picked
and I have been the thorny weed trampled upon.
I am the shadow beneath my own feet
and up there-
way up there above me and beyond the clock towers
and far from the fleeting wings of desperate angels
I have seen what I am.
There was a day, a captured moment sometime ago
when the morning dew glistened from within the cracks
of cobblestone and the footsteps of lost people ran ahead of me.
Archers poised behind their flaming arrows danced
with the midnight and I knew only then that I am myself.

08/23/2006

Posted on 08/24/2006
Copyright © 2025 Gregory R Schelske