A Horse Called Hazard…


As scions of historicity we have our virtues.

We are selfless, brave, modest, self-restrained, devoted and patient.

Our sense of ‘taste’, though, may be distorted.

That which is complete and mature in every culture…

That which is noble in works and men might still be beyond us.

Can we glide with our cultural heroes over halcyon seas?

Do our eyes respond in kind to that glint of cold perfection

which gleams out from the golden shore?

Are we not halted in our tracks by those traces of the miraculous

that occasionally greet us from our hidden depths?


Ultimately, it is measure that defeats us.

Our yearning is for the infinite.

The immeasurable…


Like the rider on a spooked steed

we let go of our grasp on the reins

when faced with the infinite.


Our state of bliss

now resides in hazard.


2 thoughts on “A Horse Called Hazard…

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