Finchale Priory

Much have I travelled in the realms of dust

Since last I came to Godric’s cell

And walked the river path and climbed the hill

And sailed my blistered boat

Beneath the stars of fortune.

This was a haven when my spirit

Was wrecked on the reef of my ego,

When my gritted hands could no longer stand

The smoke-tired flesh of Friday nights.

Listen.

Listen.

Look.

Quietness, solitude, sun on eroded stone.

A river. A hillside hung with trees.

When the old pirate turned monk

And gave up gold for God

He found these simple things

And made them greater than the sum of all their parts

Through some mysterious, mystical magic.

But for me this will always be

A broken window framed against the sky,

A slender pine tree,

A lover that I lost

And a lover that I had to lose.

Everything will be different when I return - 

Smaller, jewel-like.

Then I will hang these walls with different ghosts

And walk by a different path.