S.C. Flynn

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