The Light At The Top Of The World. Poem by Ian Kellett

I’m not going back,
Not even when desperate loneliness speaks
I will not return,
If ever my absolute only-ness peaks
I won’t go cap held,
Exposing my top to the weather’s distaste,
Or kneeling for mercy
Disclosing the loss of her measurable face.

I’ll sit on my throne,
Pronouncing my county at one with itself,
And shuttle between
The housing and bounteous wonders of self.
I’ll lay in the shade
Of wisdom acquired from numerous wars,
And bathe in the light
That dismally fires my summer-less thoughts.

And draw in my form
When anything lit is extinguished at last,
And loll in the hall
Where denizens flicker like wishes dispatched,
And when darkness comes,
Providing the answers detested by them,
I’ll run to her torch
Applying for chances of vesture again.