Categories
history literature

Poem: History

History

No thing these days is as it seems,
And ideas… well, don’t trust them.
I pore over the all too human follies
Of dynasties and revolutions,

And create like Casaubon a sterile wisdom.
Into grey garners, I pour the husks of time.
The vital seed has long since passed away.
Lost in trash, I know the madness of the day.

My towers of discarded folly stand alone
On the outskirts of the rampaging town.
Before long, the prophecies say, the dark rider
Will take me to my trial and put all I know to fire.

Then who will be left to pick through the ash?
What druid will plant the fired seed in the ash?

By Jeff Rich

Jeff Rich writes poetry and many forms of prose - this blog, history, essays, fiction, briefings, even kind questioning tweets. His podcast - The Burning Archive - talks about all things history and culture from the unusual perspective of a very minor government official. He lives in Melbourne, Australia.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s