[I’m at it again! Some more Poetic Experimentation for you – as ever, your thoughts on the what, why and how of this piece are welcome!]
Away, beyond, don’t look for me this time.
Square and compass guide me, following the line.
I entered first, without worry, my fellow craftsmen spoke not the second time either.
Third, and final, the final straw.
A companion gone to hide, to the South, to seek out what’s inside.
To be free, to be accepted.
Horizons melt and merge like amity and memories, fraternal destiny in front of me.
To lodge, my calling.
Mortal vice, folly and distraction. Release me.
A Master’s life for me, I’ve earned my Third Degree.
I’ll tread these humble steps no more.
A new path worn, the path of the Craft, wound to unwind behind my eyes, on the prize.
Left-right, up-down, past-future. Lying discarded to my sides. Love-hate, the Art and the Atheist.
My convocation awaits.
I pass beneath the Arch, where Holy men have passed before.
Royal blood runs deep here.