Terence George Craddock (Spectral Images and Images Of Light)

There Is No Road Back* - Poem by Terence George Craddock (Spectral Images and Images Of Light)

Do not look to that place of birth.
For the world, we were born into
does not exist in present manifestation.
Past world was archaic its stagnant wastes
unable to stand upon themselves;
without storms which generated
passions of climatic creative process.
Past was lost irretrievably in time of youth
before first tentative step of our leave taking.

Subtle atmosphere which cloaked past plains
dissipated before an errant wind of variant forces.
Still journeying into unknown destinations,
scattering unsettled residue irretrievably apart
in unreachable irrevocable alienation.
Who could unravel threads to solve the riddle
inherent, in the inexplicable nature of each?
What sequels will be brought unyieldingly forth,
as resultant consequence of indelible actions?

A wandering odyssey soul
may journey back to grasp at straws.
Only echo memories exist
on that differing landscape.
Memories are equally with us upon meditation
no matter where we dwell or chance may stray.
More concrete yet haunted, in retracted point of origin,
for at sextant star charted helm,
dimension’s change is a varied kaleidoscope.

Never go back without purpose, squandering
time with what was or may have been.
But ever forward in search of rich new fields.
Gardeners produce many staples, for diverse
requirements, in a demanding selective market.
Rare delicacy; exotics are internationally craved
if commodities are fresh of acceptable standard.
Natives may fall in value, be over abundant,
surplus to requirement, when gathered
for fickle shifting fashion trendy tastes.

Gardener’s experiment with a hybrid crop,
gathered in full at optimum harvest’s yield.
Fine fruit of these seedlings is grown,
in suitable native or assigned foreign field.
Result of such labour is subtle to radical,
for temperature soil season, each leave their seal.
Plants developed, bred to meet many needs,
in fullness of time, each must bear.
While fertile soil of planting is tilled,
or lies fallow, to await its due year.
That which is strong and needed endures,
non-productive field the gardener must clear.

Copyright © Terence George Craddock

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, February 7, 2010

Poem Edited: Monday, April 18, 2011

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