Free Christian At Large

He could only fancy, as in some old-world fable, that if a man went westward to the end of the world he would find something—say a tree—that was more or less than a tree, a tree possessed by a spirit; and that if he went east to the end of the world he would find something else that was not wholly itself—a tower, perhaps, of which the very shape was wicked. So these figures seemed to stand up, violent and unaccountable, against an ultimate horizon, visions from the verge. The ends of the earth were closing in.

The Man Who Was Thursday — G. K. Chesterton (1874–1936)

I lived among the violent in the tower whose very shape is wicked.

I watched for God from an edge bounding society, and I dreamed.

My dreams are woven into fabric, cloth of visions, visions from the verge.

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