This Place of Rest

Where is this place that I rest?

What love I don’t know that I need?

Must that we hold to the death –

That which we scarcely believe?

In short of our vows that are long,

We pray for a silent reprieve,

For those that we erred with our wrong,

May the bells peel plenty indeed.

Why seek out the standards of ‘norm’,

And play out our years in an act?

Live life on the edge, why conform

To myths that we reason as fact?

Bare naked the true light of day,

To the form and fancies we take

Where innocent children we play

And rest in the meadows we make.

©Philip Holden

2008

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