Thursday, 7 August 2008

A SONNET

FOR A CHILDHOOD FRIEND

Near to Tintagel castle lies a stone,
where once, they say, King Arthur’s noble sword
stood fixed. From thence with many a fruitless groan
knights tried to force the blade, without the word
that would release it from its deadly grasp.
I saw you dance around that boulder, wild,
mad for the free universe, free of the hasp
of consequence, believing only in the child
that once you were and wanted to remain.
Life has brought you nothingness and pain.
I grieve for that – the failure of desire -
but you will always be my friend, though stilled that fire.
None now believe in that dead sword or word.
There is no fiddle for the dance, nor singer heard.


Ian Fraser