Slow Drive To St Lucia

Slow Drive to St Lucia



Dawn
finds me running, after I have said my morning prayers. The mist is a
cloak of cold fire over the grass, over the canal that winds like a
petrified snake through to Kingston Road.

On which
altar shall I lay my petitions, my God? Though I have learned to praise
her in a foreign tongue, I fear I have not given her the key to unlock
my song.


Remember the days when every
morning is ripe with the scent of magic? You run towards the sun, heart
in mouth. Every hour hides a pearl as you ride through a dirt road,
through a cemetery, to a green city. You feel invincible, inexhaustible
but?.

Even the best soldiers have to rest. I have
fought in many campaigns in the battlefields of the heart. Once again I
gather my armies; nourish them with prayers, milk and
honey.

Even if it is a slow drive to St Lucia, I
must come.

Now let the dreamer march to a different
drum.