An uncanny and unfamiliar view: the sun gazing over the Sperrins.
Light granted sight and in the
smarting, sticky glow of day the range seemed endless.
Every peak,
protruding from plate like
vertebrae of the obscene Oilliphéist, aspired to pierce the clouds (had there been any) and
swelling like the ego of that Boeotian hunter, set Olympus and Rheasilvia to blushes.
An omnidirectional parsec of perpetual nihility that,
swallowing the senses,
renders proprioception void.
Everything suspended for a second or century under the watch of that inert sentinel, whose
magnitude mirrored the Cosmic Turtle.
Say some stray tenant of Mountsandel
had wandered through these ancient fields and looked, as I do, upon the eminence of this glen;
From now til then, this Precambrian master had aged but a second.
Words are feeble against this primordial Schist and cannot hope to evoke it.
But all perceived as hard then shifts; I see the hulk in its youth suffering
the divorce of Rodinia; drifting further from its peers – drowning.
Even now the car traced the scar carved in the little pinnacle.
Granted, it bore us tourists stoically on
Granite too pure for poetry.
Yet still I see, as clear as Sawel, the young stone struggling to breathe the noxious air;
Freezing and thawing with the trends of the earth and
Bearing it all alone.
No wonder it had become catatonic.
How fitting, that every traveller on their
commute between the Pillars of the  North,
should be forced to stare
Eden
in the eyes and acknowledge
where
earth began.

Lent's painful labours yielded results,
When the now-bouyant child was found.
Still in the water, an infernal image of
Youths perfection lay drowned.

Prone to the tide,
His soft undulations suggested that by chance
His arrival had breathed new life
Into this hellish circumstance.

A fraught family on the shore,
reunited with their prodigal son.
Knowing that the time to lay him to rest
For eternity had come.

The final plans - the wake and funeral,
Will soon be underway.
To truly mark, in earth and heart,
The minors final day.

Any joy leeched from the event,
Was marred and stained with loss.
Knowing that to reconvene,
They'd paid a deathly cost

And identifying the body
Had yet to formally be done.
For some poor relative,
A haunting image of a loved one

That would reappear when you shut your eyes,
And ***** your mind with claws.
And weave into your memory
In place of what once was.

A closed coffin ensured
Only one person met that fate,
A morbid idol etched in their mind,
Surviving til this date.

The Catholic Shame surrounding
The unforgivable sin,
Fearing that God would not forgive
Or seek to welcome him in.

As for Heaven or for Hell,
I know not what will be.
But being laid to rest by familiar hands,
Is better than The Sea.