The Ambition in Me

[Ex Tempore XV]

Written whilst travelling by train from Manchester to Bangor.

All these modern little houses neatly packed together in bundles,
made ready for Mr & Mrs and the two-and-a-half.

Passing into and through these towns:
the bland colours of the buildings match the greyness of the overhanging and listless sky.

Much unlike the manor house seen along the way,
that has stood
and still stands.

Or rusting metal of refineries and old-man diesel locomotives, both still huffing and roughing away.

Helsby, also so neat, is at least dressed by a hand that aspires.

And pastures green, with a lively splash of yellow;
and the blossoming trees that bend down,
kissing the rippling river.

Further on, westwards,
treading forwards,
the sky begins to clear;
the sun—
hidden away still by persisting and apathetic cloud—
pronounces its presence, its worth,
even without any ostentation.

Then finally: the vast, unending sea:
unfettered, fearless and far-reaching in its scope.

Admiring of it all,
encased and carried within my restless body,
my glowing heart
pulsates in hidden passion.

M.M. — Aprilis MMXII