Fixed into a dungeon with no openings
And watched over, night and day,
By four groups of four guards,
You seem to have reached the end of your road,
Under the sign of ‘No way out’.
Even in sleep you are chained up
Between two most attentive soldiers;
And tomorrow is execution day.
What does it all mean, Peter,
This tale of your immaculate binding?


I take you into myself, where you are.
It’s in earth that we look out in vain
For some miracle or token, sign,
Omen, signpost, you and me,
Trapped in the everyday, without vision.
It’s this blindness that makes men
Into atheists, unbelievers, doubters,
Lost souls who, seeing nothing,
Say that nothing is, exit
Of any kind is quite impossible.


Yet the angels keep coming from nowhere
And unexpected light beams in,
As though an unseen hand has smacked
Your face rudely and announced lift-off.
You see that the elsewhere of heaven
Interrupts despair firmly.
Sub-lunar chains shrivel and drop.
Doors gleam into sight, open,
Gates too, and there! You’re free!




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Monday, 25 September 2023

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