It looms I am buried in its shadow It moves not Towards me, but I towards It is unscalable I teeter a mere inch off the ground But that inch is hard-earned I reach above my head Fingers balancing on a narrow rock shelf And…

There are few things worse than A cold house at the end of a long day.

What is it like to be so highly revered, That your very word is authority? Do masters ever feel slighted That hours of work, years, Labouring onward Through dulled eyes and hazy minds Were dismissed as ‘genius’? A born prodigy. A lack of talent may…