Monday, August 04, 2008

Play, sweet fiddler, play

The muffled wails of doomed humanity,
Ghostly signatures of a world aflame;

Somewhere not far away a soldier dies,
His unborn child will know a photograph;

A field of sand, an arid oasis,
Our hopes shrunk like mountainous ice, adrift;

The whale song is sad elegy spun out,
Through black void to some ET antenna;

A hand is poised above a field of white,
The whetted quill like hungry vulture's beak;

Words are my fiddle as the world burns bright;
I imagine you to ask "Why bother?"

So that I may then reply sublimely,
"For Christ's sake, I have got to do something."

1 comment:

Shus li said...

Well done! It expresses well the exasperation of those of us who write because we don't know what else to do in response to the state of the world.