Experiment Three: G

[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.

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13 thoughts on “Experiment Three: G

      • I like it more every time I read it, and yes, there are clues. You’ve either given up your job at MacD’s and become an architect, or you’re marrying a southern belle and joining the KKK, (in which case you and I are no longer on speaking terms) or you’ve become a buddhist monk, and taken your drawing eqipment with you in case the monastory needs someone to draw plans for an extension.
        I go for the third option.
        Your writing isn’t to blame for my inability to be serious at this moment in time.

        Liked by 1 person

          • You’re seriously sad that you’re not marrying a southern belle and joining the KKK? You disappoint me.
            I kinda figured you were joining something. It sounds freemasonish, but surely not, because you probably wouldn’t write a poem about joining a weird secret society.
            Dammit. I’m just going to wait quietly untilyou decide to spell it out – or not.

            Liked by 1 person

            • Well the southern belle doesn’t sound bad! Not too keen on the KKK, admittedly – white just isn’t my colour (woah that’s a deeper joke than I meant it to be!).
              To be clear, this poem is a work of fiction, so any motivations are purely creative and not reflective of my real life joining desires. I think you might be onto something…

              Liked by 1 person

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