Horseman

On through the marshland his mount’s hooves splash
And the sky drowns the world in a green-tinged grey
And it’s damp and it’s cold but he’s on his way
For his sword’s caught a glint from the lightning flash.

As he rides round the edge of the glassy mere
Where the trees grow in clumps of amorphous green
Does he think where he’s going or where he’s been?
Does he look back in sorrow or ahead in fear?

Still the dim wooden castle in the background looms
Like a rotting reminder of the need to leave
Though the quest be a punishment without reprieve
And the road be an ambush by relentless dooms.

So we called him a hero and we watched him go
With his cloak and his helmet and his brave white horse
And he followed the lightning on its long cracked course
To a place and an ending that we’ll never know.

And the light isn’t daytime and the dark’s not night
And the old wooden castle is a ruin now
But we still tell the story that we hope somehow
Will restore summer’s colours to our drowning sight.

Simon MacCulloch lives in London and is a regular contributor to Reach Poetry, The Dawntreader and Sarasvati.

Find more by Simon MacCulloch in the Author Index.