I was not born to this, but time has done its work.
On the first day, years ago, I smashed my head
against the wall like the Spartan boy seeking death
rather than tolerate servitude. But walls soften,
and the routine I once so strongly resisted
has become instead a barrier
against the freedom I could no longer stand.
My chains are not of metal but of fear; to leave
would be easy, but to go with my shrunken self
unthinkable. So I will stay, the cold razor
in my hand only to shave the master,
not to usurp him or to liberate myself.
We are not born to be, but to become.
(from “Temptation in the Desert”, Agàpe Publications, 2002)
Poetry, poem, speculative poetry, science fiction poetry, Australian poetry, British poetry