Faced with modern age

I will myself to ignorance.

Bleach all doubt, and lyse

hard-earned wisdom

‘till I stand zealous

in a world where Darwin’s finches fly unseen,

and Satan stands a fallen angel,

not mere symbol of human vice

and Roman subjugation.


Let me hunt Saints relics,

cross green and pleasant land

with skin anointed

by lightsworn priests.

Give me the hope of heaven

and I will treasure life

with the fervour of a child

turning thrice for Bloody Mary.


The night holds no terror now

with stars finite and distant, our moon


to a Cold War ambition

and the insolence of a footprint.


This was originally published by the Turl Street Arts Festival.