Journey

We gaze into ethereal veils of night,
But should we trace that ancient age of light
Of stars, that left its home so long ago,
To only now enchant us with their glow.
It was before we walked the dimpled moon,
Before first love had blushed you to a swoon,
Before you learned that fleeting time belies
Or cast upon this life your yearning eyes. 
Before the world was burned in war and hell,
Before the bomb on Hiroshima fell
From glistening planes which hadn’t yet been built
To soar above atrocity and guilt.
Napoleon, upon his ashen horse
In Russia’s frozen plains of no remorse,
Had yet to meet demise, and rise again 
and gallop to Tolstoy’s enlightened pen.
Before Machiavelli wrote The Prince
Or Newton’s grand Principia convinced
The world, that reason must prevail
And strip from callow eyes its mystic veil. 
There were no sonnets then, and no Macbeth,
For Shakespeare hadn’t sighed a single breath,
Such wondrous worlds you may have dreamt, perchance,
Where ancient stars through seas of heavens dance.
Before Columbus’ voyage had unfurled,
A once pristine, yet now decrepit world,
And Galileo hadn’t scanned the skies
With novel scopes pressed tight to yearning eyes.
A scorching Rome had yet to win her fame,
And fade into the dark like every flame,
The genius of Plato did not write,
The Phadeo, on his teacher’s final night.
Before the fear of man created gods,
A primate species skimmed the daunting odds,
And cast a fateful bellow from its lungs
Which would evolve to fashion modern tongues.
The wooly earth shook not in mammoth load 
When mighty lizards sang the worldly ode,
To one day gaze above into their death
And learn that life is here for just a breath. 
A burning orb of lava was our earth,
4 billion years before our painful birth,
Twas maybe then the star had cast its ray,
Whose light shall lance into our eyes today. 
That distant star herself may long be gone
And yet her ceaseless light keeps shinning on,
And shall impale the endless dawns of space
for long after the dusk engulfs our race.

gene16180

My muse can be unseemly and nomadic although she fancies meter and good rhyme, her diligence and output are sporadic, and some may say she’s moving past her prime. At times she’s off consorting with the sages reflecting on existence, as it were, At...

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