A Final Agony

Poemata LVII

Soar, and know the air / Breezes flutter the cranes’ wings / But speech to the wind

When I dream of future past
And of all yet to be cast
In stone - alone then I see
Of times far-flown
The most true possibility;

Ah, the consolations there
Hung on string, with greatest care
Each name - the same I raise
My hand to touch a paper crane
A thousand for a thousand days;

And before my eyes disappear
But not of trepidation, fear
A day, turned gray and faded
The empty gardened entryway
To hospice those once cradled;

Forward time a moment then
And seeing what began, end
A peace, decease to some
But since we fade, increase
To those yet far-flung;

And she watches from this chair
The porch, and those playing there
And call, so small the window
Kept with care so that withal
Such places stay and grow;

A house so strange to us
Who live now, and trust
In wire, conspire within
To resist that coming fire
But are those who let it in;

And cracking through the sky
I see the riders, the winged fly
To strike, alike I look ahead
And soaring as does the shrike
I plant my foot upon the dead;

I know of those they go to bomb
From this shore, not so long
Ago, I know, they never struck
Only in deserts, steppes in snow
No nettle left to pluck;

Soon passes this final war
- not for us, but evermore
For them, so when we see
Who remain, think on it then--
The once and final agony.

Author’s note: The images from this poem come from a single dream.

If you enjoyed this, please also consider reading Torn Veils by A Forest Rebel.