11.01.2016

The Voice of the Four Winds


it is addressed thusly:

A vision.
it reads:
"The Dream is dead, the Dream is dead"
That is what the voices of the four winds said;
Calling at the window, rattling at the door
Unseen voices which cannot speak a word
If they once could they cannot any more
Yet this is a semblance of what I heard;

The east wind calls from the morning of the world
The light that was lost when the flag was unfurled
The spring which will not come for them again
Who once laid claim to the innermost light
There will be no more budding of their crops or their men
Let them watch with their lamps in the night;

The south wind sings in the burning zenith-bright
Of walking men in darkness in the mid day's light
Their summers of no cotton, their men of no truth
Who know no thing for what it may be
Their judgements of no power, their mercies of no ruth
Who seek but cannot find equality;

The west wind rumbles in the sunset of the West
With tears it calls beseeching to those we love the best
That have forgotten God, he the crown of our year
His it is now, then to roll up like a cloth
So remember beauty, and the dread of his fear
Kiss the Son quickly then, lest you find Him wroth;

The north wind howls at the pitch of twilight-time
Of those who have not reason, of those who have not rhyme
No good shall be performed in this winter of their soul
Seeming quick to listen, but of their charity
All shall eat and eat but yet never find their full
Passing over good for cold chains of slavery;

Such things have I heard when awake in the night
The death of man's progress, the snuffing of his light
But the winds at this must laugh, for we have been misled
Man went nowhere, for long ago he lost his mark
Yes the four winds said, yes, the Dream is truly dead
Man who was Enlightened was sleep-walking in the dark.

1 comment:

  1. This is fantastic stuff. Given the enormous overlap between progressivism and modern poetry I used to stick pretty much only to the classics. But it's refreshing to read interesting contemporary poetry with an older aesthetic. Keep up the great work.

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