Lost Remembrance

We crossed over deserts, meadows, mountains,

travelled by rivers and seas, Arctics and Antarctics,

planted vines, bridges and ports, raised sheep and sons.

We built churches, cathedrals, palaces and poor hovels.

We lit fire into dark nights and hope into sore souls

but also have made mad things we prefer never to remember.

We threw roads and rails, telegraphs, cities, skyscrapers,

even an audacious tower, at Babel, when, our history tells,

You promptly restrained us.

Your sons became grandsons, great-grandsons, at last, us,

adoptive sons who every day attempt to remember

what was like one face that has been said

we are patterned from.

Published in December 4 2015 at Whispers.


Published in February 29, 2016, at Dead Snakes


Published in West Ward Quarterly, Winter 2017 issue.




Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s