Shaken from sleep
I see strange shapes moving,
figures on a landscape
that is no longer mine.
Old ghosts on wise shorelines,
innocence and evil
walk hand in hand.

Dead to the picture
I wait at a blind corner
where thinking solves nothing.
Dark edges call me to shelter
and diverse ways seem to offer hope.

I wake to this dull window each day
where colour is dead,
and there are no offers of company.
Fifty years ago,
Chapel bells and Cathedral choirs
sang out across the Suffolk fields,
in a time when wonderment shone
in English hearts,
now a sacrifice of tears
floods from the heart of God,
and I am a prisoner
to this dull window.

2 thoughts on “Dull Window”

  1. Thanks Richard,

    I would add as a general comment to those who read this. There are many reasons given out as to why this present time is so dull.
    Dull to community, dull to caring about our neighbours. There are those who are simply too weighed down with the pressure of work, people with poor education struggling to survive in a digital world, can things change?

    At this point in our Country’s history I find it hard to believe that they can.

    There is a mystery that lives inside me that some have called, ‘Self Realisation,’ the knowledge that nothing really changes; human nature lives the lie always.
    Even the word ‘self’ tells of darkness and how vainly we have striven.
    For me the human race is going 90 miles an hour down a dead end street but, we still must use every opportunity we can to reach out to our neighbour and hope.

    I leave with a poem by F.S. Flint:

    “The young men of the world look into each others eyes, and read there the same words: Not yet! Not yet! But soon perhaps, and perhaps certain”

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