Going through books to donate to a book sale, I found this in
an old college Latin text. My style has changed; not so much
my sensibility.



The Precipice

"I may truly say my soul hath been a stranger
in the course of my pilgrimage. I seem to have
conversation among the ancients more than
among those with whom I live."
- Sir Francis Bacon


My walk suddenly ends on this stony scarp
Where it drops to the spit and foam of the sea.
Below, dark waves resound with each leap
And fall, as they have and will, eternally.

I wonder if a lover once walked to this edge
And whispered the name of his pain like a prayer
As he leaped to the rocks and water below,
His lost love uncaring and ever unaware.

Perhaps there stood here an ancient explorer
Who imagined all the worlds he had yet to see;
Or the oldest of tribes met in sacred rites
To gods in the stars of their astronomy.

Or perhaps this is only a rise of rock
That drops to the spit and foam of the sea,
And visions so vivid of explorers and lovers
Have come to reveal my own history.




Poetry by countryfog
Read 368 times
Written on 2011-02-08 at 17:50

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
You're right on both counts, Fog. The poem is romantic, as are most of yours, but the technique is more formal. It's a good poem, I think. I like the way that it rhymes, but doesn't beat to death the reader.
2011-02-13