Inspired by Rob's reference to Prometheus.




Prometheus Knew

Too warm now for a fire at dusk.

The small stack of oak and hickory

That is left snaps and smolders

In a hot Spring sun . . . by August

They will settle in a smoke-shimmer

When the light hits them just right,

Crisp curling of bark into kindling.

 

Nights become shorter but not easier.

There is some primal instinct within us

That still needs fire to reveal our demons

Hovering just beyond the edge of light,

Illuminate the deep corners of our despair,

Warm the chilling darkness that stalks us

In the night . . . and light our way back.





Poetry by countryfog
Read 421 times
Written on 2011-05-26 at 15:58

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Hans Bump
Compelling, descriptive and naturally beautiful ; and with a message! Nice.
2011-05-26


Rob Graber
Hey, Great write, 'fog! And jim: I paraphrase Hermione Granger: "Awful things happen to humans when they steal cool stuff from the gods, Harry!"
2011-05-26



Without the long, cold night, and without the fire, the rhythm of time becomes unbalanced, time for contemplation disappears, and in a way it is exhausting living through the hours. You're right, it is primal and without the night and fire we lose track of our primal selves, the self that knows (or should know) the stars and constellations, the phase of the moon, the mechanics of our physical world.

Prometheus would probably tell me to quit yammering and get this damn eagle offa me.
2011-05-26