(Hammill)



Searching for diamonds in a sulphur mine,

leaning on props that are rotten,

hoping for anything, looking for a sign

that I am not forgotten.

Lost in a labyrinth of future mystery,

tracing my steps, all mistaken,

trusting to everything, praying it can be

that I am not forsaken.



I wait by the door, wondering

when you will come and keep me warm.

I pray for the end of the night,

hoping the light will still the storm

which presently betrays me;

helpless sea-monster stranded on the shore,

marooned in an ecstasy of waiting,

I yearn, although knowing that I shall dive no

more

in the tide already racing.



My lungs burst to cry: