I search for the Isle of Glass
where the healing sisters
might tend my wounds
with perfumed lotions and soothing oils,
this gentle pilgrimage, seeks
alchemy for my tortured heart
and choral verses to salve my troubled soul,
bandaged and heavily cloaked
I stare keenly from the prow,
never turning to meet the oarsman’s stare
intent for eternity’s sake
to find my destiny and the shore
*
© Graham Sherwood 12/2020
grahamrichardsherwood.co.uk 