19 APR 2021
21 APR 2020 · BLAKE’S WILD FLOWER
Who knew,
Within the silence
That has fallen
On the world,
Such tapestries
Of sound
Would,
Woven,
Grow?
Bird call,
Footfall,
And in
The blossom blow -
The distanced stranger’s
Coy ‘Hello’.
Who knew,
Before the sky fell in,
The world was filled
With such bright colour?
That Time and Space
Elasticated,
Like a mind on mescaline?
Or that we would be given
To see
Such wonder,
A world in a grain of sand,
A heaven -
In Blake’s wild flower?
Infinity.
Eternity.
And how could
These things be,
Unless we also
Stare into the face
Of loss,
Of grief,
And see
Our own
Mortality.
DAVID O’CONNELL
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