No Point of Reference

Where to now, Fathers?

The fires of Olympus, long

Extinguished, disappeared

Into the night, smokeless.

 

Where now, are the sons of

The great Thunderer, to whom,

Once, whole of mankind sung

Hymns of glory, in mad joy?

 

Where is the Spirit, all-animating,

That once swum and flew, tearing

Waters, splitting sky? Where the

Holy, the exuberant, the lifeblood?

 

Stillness permeates the woods, the

Rivers, the mountain-peaks. Whereto

Is gone, the humming of wind-strings,

The somber tune of heavenly harps?

 

I hear silence, the lifeless daemon, that

Makes every house its home, tearing

Asunder, in secret, the holy bondage

Of love and friendship, of family.

 

Animated, in madness, in abyssal hate,

The world revolves around itself,

Endlessly entertained by its device,

Procured by fools, hellishly powerful.

 

Wordless the temples, empty the schools,

And streets, void of child’s play, echo

Sadness. The weathercock clatter in mute

Winds, and, as the Sun sets, glistering flowers

 

Weep, wither and die. The night is long and

Light-less, cold. Endless, as well. Bereft of

Love, of friendship, I lay still; embraced by

The stars, I am lulled to sleep, fitful and eternal.