Elegy For A Man And His Land
This is how the world will end:
Not with a bang but a whimper.
T.S. Eliot, "The Hollow Men"
Time and space being relative,
Here each seems to have ended
Where a fence leans into nothing,
Keeping nothing in nor out now,
Whatever once here having gone
The way of the barn, its bare bones
Half-buried in a pasture wild again
With tall weeds and prairie grass,
Old seed sacks of mice and dust.
The fence staggers on and then
Simply stops, limping wires rusty
And the posts more holding on
Now than holding up, as though
They had forgotten where it was
They had been going and why.
Such emptiness no longer seems
A place but a permanent past, some
Dimension beyond any measuring.
But between a fence post and wire
A spider web holds them together
And from it, a single thin thread
From which hangs a white moth,
Desiccated body slowly swinging
Like a pendulum, its hollow husk
A tiny ticking against the leaning
Post, a clock running down, both
Time and space slowing into silence.
Poetry by countryfog
Read 678 times
Written on 2015-06-23 at 19:19
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