the hero plummets in a journey measureless to man
as a weighted ghost from the jagged heights of the Chateau d’If
he sinks in the blue grief of the sea of middle earth
and grasps his hidden crucifix to stab the stolen shroud about him the emtombment of his dead cell mate
as if to guarantee the transit which gave rise to his own hard won resurrection
he emerges as a phoenix bird gasps for oxygen at dawn
pale ghastly yet tangibly alive cranking into the sky like some great machine
the vast treasure found he wreaks havoc on his adversarises the harsh authors of his own fate the incarceration of an innocent man
his work is done his enemies dead or ruined
yet there is hubris in the outcome and he feels the remorse of the vengeful
his heart like the fate of those he righteously prosecuted grows opaque
part good and part evil
even the bright light of Mercedes struggles to penetrate his shield
perhaps his vast journey was all in vain
Flynnpoetry 