Saturday, November 1, 2014



There's a side to beauty
that is sadness enduring.

There's a belief in beauty
that's peculiarly universal

while unique in itself
to this punter, or that.

It's more the idea
than the actuality

of this place, not who
had the idea for it

that becomes a reality
previously unimaginable.

First there's the perception,
then the journey towards

understanding that comes,
you're told, with empathy;

and, finally, it's the where
you know that refines

the who you are. It's then,
you could say, landscape's

indifference in itself
mirrors our impermanence,

has no awareness of the dramas
which, paradoxically, heighten

and enhance the sense of the
numinous in nuance and hue.

In other words, you choose
what it is that makes for piety

and pleasure, and obligation,
and how you measure such,

and what is meant by home,
and why, or whether

you believe, before
your time's up, that

this big, unloved, untidy
unwalled room is it.

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