from the hissing of the spent lie
and the old terror's continual cry
growing more terrible as the day
goes over the hill into the deep sea;
I have longed to move away
from the repetition of salutes,
for there are ghosts in the air
and ghostly echoes on paper,
and the thunder of calls and notes.
I have longed to move away but am afraid;
some life, yet unspent, might explode
out of the old lie burning on the ground,
and, crackling in the air, leave me half-blind.
Neither by night's ancient fear,
the parting of hat from hair,
pursed lips at the receiver,
shall I fall to death's feather.
By these I would not care to die,
half convention and half lie.
- I have longed to move away, dylan thomas
dorothee schumacher, designer via theselby.com