My name can be heard in the sound of rain;
It’s burned into the wall with Promethean fire.
I know a thousand kinds of pain,
And all of them begin with primal desire.
We were made for the muck and mire;
Born of blood and mortals souls.
Tested by water and then by fire;
Those for whom the bell ever tolls.
We rise with the sun and take arms against fate;
Our lives an unforgivable sin.
Of burdens past we bear the weight,
And fight a war we cannot win.
We fight for balance in the dark
Amid the clash of stick and stone;
Minds and hearts one but apart,
Our greatest beast to face alone.
Our time is then; our time is now,
Sand falling into the hourglass.
Our days are more than fate can allow;
A life only precious because it cannot last.
Born without claws I forged them of steel
And wrought a nation from the earth.
Between hammer and anvil my world was made,
And by this my sons will know their worth.
Drowning now beneath the sound
Of a million hearts that beat and pound,
I can taste the dust from whence I came,
But this world will always remember my name.
Poetry
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I enjoy the primal feeling in your use of language. It gives man that animal quality that we ignore. thank you!
Love the allusion with “Promethean fire”…this one has wonderful imagery.
I felt a strange melancholy in this work, which kept me reading indeed. The wars that rage on in the world of man and the interior of man ever since the Fall seem to line this work as well. I found this poignant, and I appreciate your passionate work, dear one.