To Survive*

Deliberately for ten full years he buried, spark of greater self. So vessel would become void an insignificant whipping stool. That he could be as rarefied one, ridiculed within coarse crowd. Not apart in isolation suffering aloneness seeing with insight to read unguarded hearts. Now past learning, true self, cannot be denied nature that feels, to much, to deep, deep down. To walk in worlds you cannot walk in think thoughts you have not thought in. Dream dreams you have not seen. See past presents all that’s ever been. Winged fugitive creeping silently striving to remain. Blood of virtue flows in those elusive veins. Hunted like a leper, by faceless cripples. Who torture those still psychic sane. Copyright © Terence George Craddock