Friday, 25 August 2006

epic by Steven Schroeder

Most every time the world ends, it ends
in some imbroglio over noise, too
much, not enough, silent gods fed up
with the clamor downstairs, histrionic
bullies shouting where were you from whirlwinds,
somebody who doesn't like the music,
and forgetting. A bang, a whimper,
the terrible silence of a man
who does not recall his other son,
who makes promises when lightning strikes
or wars begin, who gives up children
because he cannot hold his tongue, because
he will not hold his tongue, because he does
not hold his tongue, because he does. Curses
enough for everyone in this epic,
those who remember, those who forget,
those who will die, those who wish they could.
Steven Schroeder, Chicago, USA

2 comments:

Juliet Wilson said...

A short poem that manages to be epic in scale. Thouight provoking too, especially in the times in which we live....

jim said...

Very pushy, very strongly demanding, and yes, very today. I feel this way myself, often, and it is portrayed well and large here quickly and directly, like it needs to be said out there, maybe they would get it. Reminds me of a moving train on the right track.