Driven

Crouching over his script
On the Biarritz to Dublin flight,
Intensely tanned with hooded eyes
His shaved head betrayed nothing
Out of the ordinary.
Yet his were nailbiting moments.
A man apart hoarding his thoughts.
His handwriting was sophisticated
As he wrote his future
-in Ireland or in France?
Not more than thirty
Driven by self belief
The passion to reach beyond the ordinary
Was compulsive in every stroke of his pen
Twice his age with purpose diluted
I admired his raison d’etre.