Things move so swiftly now. E’en now, I hear
That sacrosanct and distant melody
That turns its cryptic tone from year to year
And never turns in place. E’en now, I see
A dark-clad stranger dying in the sand
While jubilation dense about him weighs,
But do they know, amidst those desert lands
What dark and ancient beast arrests its gaze
On distant Bethlehem? The wear and tear
On normalcy and decency, routine
And solid things there melting into air –
The century upended. Had they seen,
Had Yeats lived sixteen more, or Marx had lived
To ninety-eight, could either have survived?
3 comments:
Two partial rhymes, but I am content with them. I am also considering putting some commentary in some of my updates. Is that a good idea or a bad one?
This is a good poem. Survival is always problematic for anyone. We are never more than moments away from death throughout our lives. Fortunately, most of us do not know that, and those who do know choose not to think about it.
J.D, thank you. I appeciate your take on it - reading survival as the theme. Thanks for reading!
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