Sonnet, published in the Festival of Chichester anthology 2016
The End of the Tunnel
Wherefore the afterlife for which men lust;
The guts and brains of cadavers turn dust.
Belief will not restore your mirthless heart
And energise its tenderness to start.
No magic can repair your witless brain
To vivify your spirit once again,
Nor deity re-light your vacant eyes
No matter what glib ‘miracle’ He tries.
God’s pious sheep, his bounteousness refused,
Let will and reason atrophy, unused;
Now, aided by their Faith, they tryst in hymns
While I brook Phases as your aura dims.
But past crude nous, a glimmer beckons me;
Soon I’ll embrace Time's scythe to follow thee.