NPG P934; Angus McBean by Angus McBean

The native land within my head

that which is centremost, citified

with its former surplus of all things

paramount to earthly gain, to glorification

once impervious to anything other than

pride, dubious honour, power lust,

commerce, decisions, decisions,

decisions, the hustle and bustle

the daily grind, now and long since lies

in extraneous ruins. That it was once

the seat of sovereignty governing

this then egocentric mammalian entity

brings a smile to this fading fool’s face,

this trivial embodiment of a cipher

It is outside the green leaf suburbs

and beyond mind’s eyes farthest reaches

into the forest of chaos, the mountains

of disarray, the meandering rivers of indiscipline

where sufficient holds sway over abundant

where benevolence is born of wisdom

where the blacksmith makes tools, not swords

where love is a revered, transcendent imperative

where contradictions hold stupefying sway

that I found the tomfoolery that maketh this man


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