It
was a Winter evening and I was standing in a place where a coal mine
had been. A long time ago. One and a half centuries past. There had
occured an explosion, resulting in many becoming incarcerated in the
ground. To be left. A silent, dark and lonely tomb. I was wondering why
I was preoccupied so? Why I'd even thought of it and while in
places far away, altogether different? That preoccupation sufficient to
bring me here? I have no answer, only my thoughts which I wrote down.
One question I still ask is: Whether the past has gone? What does it
mean when the past, or certain very specific facets of it impinge?
Perhaps to remain significant, because bound up with what can be said,
lives what is the most meaningful? My thoughts, to be a coursing power?
An entry into the ecstasy which, during every fraction of an interval,
cannot ever become extinguished?
A
word from Anthony Christie: Gothicalla really is the 'poetica
fantastica' and does evoke a magical dream-world. It takes you away.
Changes you. What more can there be? Do not underestimate the power.
Give in to it. Carry it, forever.
Anthony. for Callassa. London. 2009
Thanks Tony. DMC
Buy Gothicalla now. $8 (US) PayPal secure server payment system. Genre: Poetry.
ISBN 978-0-9533712-2-8 registered copyright (c) 2010 Callassa Media Company Ltd