Living by the Sword
He had a look of the illicitly serpentine about him
could summon a home like Caligula in Rome,
as he lifted his foot the ground would rise to meet it
and so forth. Of course,
the pendulum must swing
and the old tree will bear the most rings,
an abstract print
shapes and squares of solid hues
gained ill repute, grey city workers and mud stuck views.
If I had dared to ask,
where he had been, where he was and where he started from
and algebraic conundrum of x to z
a man of education might meet the end
or the beginning. But not he,
destined to be the alien stray
he’ll always leave but somehow stay
pollen carried on the wind to foreign shores
and many more, a thread through the ages to keep in tune.
Gemma Wildman, Chesham, Bucks
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