ON THE ROAD TO THE ISLES
Numbed by this alien terrain,
where truth spells a montony
of rain, we ride entombed
towards our Shangri-La.
Each fresh horizon
taunts the tired eye,
echoes the fretful sense
of hours gone by.
A weariness pervades
this no-man's land.
*****
Go West young man!
We make our final fling -
turning to be embraced
by fire. The mist resorbed,
light's pan-theophany
revives a blighted mind.
Rainbows and thunderfall engrave
their echoes on the boundary
of our wonderment, refresh
a dormant sense.
The sky line seethes -
sun sanctified.
*****
White, searing, the unseen sun
burns from the core
of mountains, transforms
a shroud of haze
into a panoply of light.
Rocks swallowed by, still seize
upon this shimmering -
a spectral residue
of more torrential times.
Malcolm Evison
