Before you shout and loud it all
there is a silent wrestle;
a conscience, bereft of science,
has instinct as its mettle.
Out of the blue, you know,
may be into the black and blue
of the storm which will strew
your fate about the spindle.
There is the defeat. You know
no other way to go
than the echoing way
to another day.
And the other is to smother,
pin down the blame,
pursuant to the clause,
in an empty chain.
'I'm not letting you get away
with that one today,'
and bring chapter and verse
until loved-ones curse.
Where is the still small voice?
I think it is taking stock.
I think it comes out of shock
I think it will rock.
..
YOU ARE READING
Bare Shouldered
Poetry"The difference of high Sensations with and without knowledge appears to me this - in the latter case we are falling continually ten thousand fathoms deep and being blown up again without wings and with all [the] horror of a bare shouldered Creature...
