High Proud Burning Gaze* Poem by Terence George Craddock (Spectral Images and Images Of Light)

The weight of my words were chains
my thoughts were whips which lashed
me cruelly. I had epitomized nothing
yet nothing, was not embodiment.
Was not, encompassed all I had.

I had a dream, the cruel
harsh light of reality,
woke me, shattering vision
to countless splintered fragments.
Still bond memory endures.

Sometimes meaning came to me
like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
Only with time could pieces
be arranged prepared put in order.
Neglected fusion body suffered
in pursuits of commitment mind.

Still dream memory endures.
We do what we do what life
makes of us, what we believe
for survival in our own way.


Hope springs eternally
within human heart.
To be crushed cruelly
yet without supremacy hope.
The heart is crushed.

Hope spins faint glimmering rays
hopes’ glimmering thread spirals,
randomly rhythmically wantonly,
a fragile life sustaining thread
birthed throughout creation dust.

I have rotted here too long already
I would walk other ways.
It is time to leave here
I go to fate and destiny.
Finally she looms overhead
as she hangs her head upon us all.


He is to be disdainfully admired.
He who sins in a great way
and not in cunning,
small deceptive ways.
For he devours himself
as spontaneous combustion;
unrestrained conflagration,
destructive all consuming fire
which though mighty,
feeds of itself into ruin.

But woe to the pure,
marked defenceless innocent,
psychopath burns upon falling
orb in descendant day.

Glory to sanctified resolute
who suffer yet endure,
for fixed purpose sustains
determined triumphs over fire.
Dry famine faggots flame
consumes an emaciated body.


Yet head remains high,
proud burning gaze,
fixed on distant point
or unseen focal image.
Thin broken body drawing
on last reservoir vestiges,
of strength refuses to slump.
An ultimate sacrifice for truth.

Felt perhaps is Kinship,
with they who adhere,
went before, martyrs
who shall come after.
Proud unbending Kinship,
with they who adhere,
to convictions past brink
to very last gasped breath.

Defiant even in
death so shall justice
triumph over even
greatest tormentor.
From deeper inner self
there can be no real
compromise with truth.

May truth always
confound its enemies.

I had nothing
yet nothing,
was not all I had.


Copyright © Terence George Craddock