The Flint
By Ewan
Wed, 26 Oct 2016
- 208 reads
His heart is fisted, breath held.
The longest moment, the shortest time.
A shard
from the Snow Queen’s splintered mirror,
pricks the
foolish organ into half an un-lived life.
That mirror misted, breath seen,
the silent wonder, the loudest scream.
A flint
in the schoolboy’s ravaged psyche
sparks the
raging ogre into more than frenzied life.
“Speak quickly, lie slowly,
love… no, not today,
not now,
but when?”
No trains to heaven,
just box-cars to hell,
no tickets to ride
the carousel of life:
grasp the ring
and pull the edifice down.
The sheet is twisted, the bed fouled
the sweetest heaven, the little death.
A glimpse
of many-splendoured dreamland
brings the
dismal knowledge that there is no better life.
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