Pool_2

>> Gavin Agonistes << (late 1967 - Outside Carrickmacross)

"The posters don't fool me," she whispered to herself. Then with a mix of sadness compassion, and healing, she caressed this beaten face of her sister struck on a child of a man. "Come." It was eternity from Dungannon to Gaza. Life in a box chills time to the flow of cold glass. In this transparency, a beaten drawn bearded teenager with the haggard mien of a spent Moses after the bush, trudged sighting on stars of instinct along back roads on bare bleeding feet, toward Carrickmacross, crying, "She's gone! She's gone!" He retained wisps of sanity by the insanity of recitation as he had done in steely willfulness for the last four years. Blind of parchment, stumbling, near expiration, he strained in gasping pauses,

"A little onward... lend.. thy guiding hand.. To these dark steps... a little further on.... For yonder bank.. hath choice.. of sun or shade... ..

There I am want to sit when any chance Relieves me.. from my task of servile toil

Daily in the common prison..... else... enjoined me Where I, a prisoner chained, scarcely freely draw The air... imprisoned also,... close and damp,