by Pavel Chichikov
I see the town of Jeremiah
Through an ever-present haze,
Towers rising over meadows,
Blue as humid summer days
Solid over soaking fields
Where reeds of destitution grow,
Muggy mists and vapors yielding
Views that prophecy allows
Every tower broken down
As every upright man must be,
Nothing stands beneath the pounding
Hammer of eternity
Guilty, guiltless, spirit, stone
What matter then morality?
All must fall to their destruction
Vanish into entropy
What matter love or hate or fear
What matter even pleasure, pain,
Who am I to hold as dear
What never will come back again?
Even if the towers stood
And ever stood as strong as bliss,
They'd be no more than rotting wood
They'd fall away like Judas' kiss
But those are towers you mistake
As even prophecy was lured,
See the apparition break –
Prophet cross and be assured
(Click here to follow Pavel's ongoing epic poem “The Shoulder of the Sun.” You may also visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.)
