Indeed, too long. I'm out of practice, I'm afraid, so apologies for the many problems you'll probably find with this one.
[pre]LEAVING HOME
This is where the cordon ends:
the gates are down, the open space
is spreading out across the streets,
the buildings lie in spent disgrace.
This is why our questions ache:
we take the risk, we breathe the thoughts
that spread like dust through eyes and ears
and settle in our brain and lungs.
This is how we crashed the car:
we left the road, we blurred the lines
and shifting up from gear to gear
we raced your gods across the sky
past heaven, through the pearly gates,
past aged Peter in his chair;
past Michael with his saxophone,
past Jesus and his dead-eyed stare.
This is where the doorways stop:
the boxed-in thoughts, the dogma queue
with bouncers all in coloured robes
on undermanding mind-control.
This is why you burnt the books:
you crossed yourself, your conscience wracked
with television interludes,
you took your car and left the facts
in no-man's land, beyond the pale;
on Nietzsche's chessboard, rife with lies;
on river beds, in concrete shoes;
encoded in a lover's smile.
This is why we took the step:
the hidden path, the Holy Ghost
erasing footsteps in the snow
his breath like forced forgetfulness
all hanging frozen in the air,
encasing men in dreamless sleep
but we?
we dreamt of being there,
and when we woke its silver thread
was leading back, and taught us how
to take one step beyond the plan:
we walked the way behind the worlds
and softly, sailing ships of reeds,
we left the Lord's familiar strands.[/pre]
