Roads wind their way like snakes.
Others driving, stopping, sight-seeing.
Universally considered hallowed ground,
Never to be more hollowed than it is.
Down below, no one is even aware.
Tethered by dead men’s tales, markers scattered
Only to be remembered more than those dead.
Parlance performed by powder puff blasts.
Verity is in a vacuum of venom.
Idealization has become irony’s whore.
Enamored by the monuments of marred memory,
We fall back into Athena’s siren song.
Poet’s Note:
Written atop Little Round Top in Gettysburg National Military Park, Gettysburg, PA.
© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
First published on tristanrobertlange.com, February 20, 2026.
Tittu
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Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Online) - Published: February 20th, 2026 10:34
- Comment from author about the poem: I’m published in an anthology featuring authors from across the Poconos, PA. All proceeds benefit the Pocono Liars Club — a collective of authors and editors dedicated to supporting and mentoring local writers. Available in paperback and Kindle, please consider purchasing one and supporting a great cause. https://a.co/d/58uxM69
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Comments1
"Idealization has become irony’s whore." I wonder who's the pimp
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