My recent journey to the Sun has left me
blind and crippled in my eyes;
but nothing’s wanting in my soul,
wherein a furnace lies.
Who will dare to touch that burning core
and realise that they will want
for nothing more; where nothing’s less
than what has gone before?
Is anyone courageous and intact enough
to grasp my nettle by the horns
without the sting of bullfight’s
tawdry tale of flesh and muscle torn?
What woman in her right mind would embrace
the tree that grows from me, galore,
with gnarled and wizened poetry
in sacred ringed geometry of yore?
My recent journey to the Sun has made me
like a magnet in reverse.
Repulsed in fear, they can’t come near
nor exclaim “for better or for worse”.
My recent journey to the Sun has melted
half my wings, by which I do
not mean just one but half of each
has gone; the rest is see-through.
[Sometimes, we can explore too far
and pay a little price in pain.
But still, despite the 3-D agony,
I’d do it all again. Again. Again].
© Alan Morrison, 2017