mental catharsis |
It is a house I loved. It is the house that Lives in my dreams And distils my soul. Cliff topped In solemn, effigy like Calmness, The windows are always open To absorb The ethereal blue ring Of sea and sky merged; Horizon bound and Rock locked In jagged firmness. The sun-splattered yellow walls Are indifferent to the Savagery below, As wave after wave Is brought up, Crescendo like, And shattered to glass shards Against the sharper Black cruelty Of the masked cliff face. Sonorous, pure, and ringing Is the voice Of life’s last dying call. Primitive, it is, and wild. It spins me past Ice-blue whirlpools And I soar up into The sky in a wet liberation, As sparkling drops Of residual pain Fall away like Autumn’s last embers. Joy is amber, blazing in my eyes. The cliff top: conquered. Reality pulls uselessly far below, But I float in the embrace of calmness, In tranquillity’s cool kiss. Click As the gate latch parts, Bare feet on bare soil. Tendrils of flowery air Tugging, clinging With residual reluctance and half-forgotten sweetness On my clothes As I reach The shade of the porch. Release is my key of gold, Solid and precious in My hand. Into the keyhole, Mental cogs turning, Tuning. A staccato, bright snap. Release is my key of gold And with it I enter, To be enveloped By blissful peace, With the occasional Silver string of relieved excitement Twanging ecstatically and Reverberating through my boundless soul. |