Thursday, September 14, 2006

BirthrightL a poem


Students in seats, sitting like kings,
Write words of wail and woeful deeds,
Of dreams and ideas. Each one doubts
That his word is wonderful, that her deed will be done.
No swords these silent few, only pencils and paper
And flesh and thoughts with which to find their way.
What meter will hold the measure of their hearts?
What poet’s tricks can capture these people?
No kenning for these folk. These kings and queens:
One day, each will find themselves in a fight ,
A moment of no mere misfortune but monstrous:
Each will falter and fall and fail:
They will see their strength slip when needed most.
And each will find the mettle to flee
From their fear, that which they find most dear:
To fall, to rise, to recover their birthright,
Their kinship and claim to their true calling:
Gods and goddesses of earth and air
They will talk thunder, and we will tremble.


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