Tuesday, 2 March 2010
Was the sun ever bullied
From its nest amongst the cloud,
A victim of night, sullied
By its muddied raven shroud?
And were white-seared cliff faces
Clawed into the blackest Hell,
With shipwrecks, myths and graces,
By the salty tongues of swells?
When an immoveable soul
Greets the irresistible,
Feet planted in cold, hard soil,
Which force remains most stable?
When my mind is confronted,
Its granite resolve attacked,
Why do I, the affronted,
Have not the nerve to strike back?