Imagine being a sorceress’ son
Strange, unsightly, full of frantic passion;
Fonder of the soft moon than the harsh sun
Wildly free, though not devoid of reason
Lord of a lonely island, ocean sprayed
Its laws written by your own, throbbing heart
Until, by strange visitors, landfall’s made
And you must be a thing in others’ art
A guide and teacher first, but then a slave
By foreign power slighted and abhorred
To rage and weep, consigned to a dark cave
A usurper’s on your shore safely moored
All who have known liberty and then chains
Can understand poor Caliban’s sharp pains
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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