He vented in sheer adoration To degrade, to wallow, to play dead Watch her metamorphisise Strain his dried up eyes for the final vision Of her Before his bones are dust
She blows him away with sour breath
Hours and hours of change Her with laughter, him with faded silence of pale days Divided But he is skewered on the life vein And she is detached in a million vain eyes He surpassed her
THE TREES Torn bare They are a stark wooden grave, still standing. And through the depths that darken These wanderers wake. Silver branches are children's prying fingers Delving into secrets They beckon for your soul.
But in the big world beyond the small fires of our faith there is a terrible darkness. Imagine us as a small house on a great moor. And beyond the moor are mountains and rivers. Beyond that there are plains and lakes. Beyond that there are more and yet more lands and seas and waters stretching so far that the mind grows weary at the thought of counting how much there is. We Christians are that small house. Out there is darkness...
Melvyn Bragg, Credo
A long time ago, in the time of the beginning, there was a power, that gave life and peace to everything, that grew and lived around it. This power existed in the entire North in small vegetation and lakes, and it always got something in return for the power, that it emanated on the surroundings. This power was strengthened by animal sacrifices, fallen warriors and their pride, boats, that people had won after a battle with others, and every year a priestess was sacrificed to it, and also some slaves. It was strong, and as a result, it's surroundings and those, who lived there, became stronger, they grew and flourished. But suddenly the power got no more sacrifices, the people got infected by a spiritual plague, that took their knowledge and wisdom; their ancient knowledge sank deep into their sub-consciousness. The power faded and drew itself back, deep into the abyss of dying small brooks and lakes in the North. Still, it exists there, at the bottom of these cold and dark waters. At some places, it doesn't exist anymore, expelled by the stupidity and mistrust. At some other places, it still exists. When it's night, the power lures animals and people, because we should strengthen it again, so the surroundings become as vivid again as they used to be, so we can live in fortune and prosperity again, as we used to.
'Oh, come with me to old Khayyam and leave the Wise To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies; One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies; the flower that once has blown forever dies." Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam : Quatrain 26
Resisting loss of innocence and covering myself in filth. And submitting to the inner monologue.
Whatever you forget about tonight's programme remember this...