I wrote this poem on Oct. 3, 2003:
Night is falling
back when men seemed noble
and loftier purposes pulled them,
I wonder if that loft was reached
by ladders or by flying rope.
were there words, whisperings,
rails that jutted out into the fine night
and pierced it through its top?
or were there shouts, clashings,
arm against arm to make sure
the night had an identity?
back when land smelled fresh
with renewing earth and earth
was a place in itself, was
there such a thing as
man and beast?
minds reflect--I see no evidence
of the men who seemed noble
and the land that smelled fresh.
But I have heard of it,
strictly from imagination,
where Dawn was rosy,
the sea grabbed speckles of sunlight,
and the earth was never robbed
of its innocence.
Yes, I have heard of that.
But the earth cracks and trembles
under tremendous pressures.
the sea can't reach the sun,
and Dawn is late and rushed.
I do not imagine this.
It seems easier to fight for the lofty sky.
***
I have to admit I like this poem. I think The Iliad may have had some influence here, but I think at the time I was taking a medieval lit class...nevertheless, I enjoy the literal vs. fantastical imagery at work here, and I seemed to be contemplating the different motives that move men. I also appreciate the irony I tried to state: something fantastical may seem easier to grasp or to fight for versus literal or earthly.
