Composition 37

Apocalyptic destruction? Metaphor? I've never been certain.

The stars danced their fairy dance against the night sky

as wave after thundering wave crashed down upon the precipice of sanity,

each crest threatening to carry the earthy shelf away,

into the tumultuous twilight depths.

 

We stood watching, spellbound as the sky cracked open,

dropping hailstones the size of baseballs,

that rode on zephyrs which turned to gales in the twinkling of an eye.

 

And as each stone crashed, bursting against the ground,

a hundred lifetimes passed-

a thousand roads traveled, a thousand more not taken,

were reduced to ash, dust, and memory in the span of a single breath.

 

Though it had been inky, murderous night for days on end,

there were still those foolish or brave enough to sail the waters.

Now their fragile little ships, built to withstand the harshest waves,

were tossed to and fro, the hungry waters licking their sides

until they were ultimately swallowed up and carried into the abyss.

 

Then the Lion, born of the chaos, beat his wings against the air,

a harbinger of the inevitable.

His lusty claws were the massive blades of angels,

his eyes, the very stars that illumiated the night sky.

 

There we stood as he descended, mouth open in a roar that tore the souls from men.

Mountainous teeth gnashed and gnawed the earth

until all was as it had been

in the times before time began.

 

The lanterns were extinguished,

and then lit again.

 

Reviews

[The Viking]

Wow, this kicks a*s. Not even going to lie. It's prose is rather story like, almost like an excerpt from a novel, but so filled with metaphor, it's still a poem. The winged lion seems to hearken vaguely to the Book of Revelation in the Bible, in it's apocalyptic imagery, but I think it's more of a metaphor for the destructive forces of nature that have the power to wipe out centuries of humankind's achievements in a matter of seconds and restore the earth the way it once was. Really puts into perspective how small we are. One question, though. What is Composition 37?

[An Ordinary Woman]

lusty claws; perfect. Apocalyptic destruction or metaphor, either works as well as the other. you still have the touch, just awesome.

[Emily B]

I like the way you end the poem and then begin again . . .