Their voices, like shadows on my soul,
cling to my wholeness, to the air
I breath; quickening me.
I do not understand
how poets of old
touch me so
passion, adamantine conviction.
Well-known, unknown, held in contempt
by audacious surety
men never forgotten
whose story is mine
their struggles die
scattered to the ends of the earth wide
tones which we had desired to hear
previous unknown delights
despoiling straight, black lines
freeing space and time
past hopes –
* again, repeat
Thoughts on A People, as Old as the World.
(In response to PTWWW “Be Inspired” Challenge #8)