There’s a new direction to contend with,
perhaps those doldrums of melancholy
recede and we bargain with ourselves;
it was an age of assurance-seeking - in
actions of still far-too-remote-selves not
willingly at hand, all wilfully denying the
obligation to resolve the here and now -
that is the sand we’d been built upon
of impasse played to an empty stadium;
it was wasted until applause tamed that
echo of emptiness - saying deliver your
lines to a mirror and hear its ambiguity
before it refutes all evidence of truth
© 15 September 2014, I. D. Carswell
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