Monday, November 7, 2011

Middle Ages

Middle Ages

From the moldy thatched hut

steaming on the mountain side

I finally emerge

with a gleaming sword

and my eyes squint

still strained from the white hearth fire.

The modern man follows

leaving his right angled room

after conquering the equations

he has poured over for centuries.

The mist conceals

a distant coastline,

the goal that has devolved

in my ancient mind.

The hills I must travel

disperse into perspective,

seeming like leaping stones

on a turbulent river in the distance.

I feel the hilt

wrapped in new leather

as my finger tips

tap at molded plastic pads

inscribed with language,

and my blade

states a memory

in the metallic reflections.

The hollows between the hills

hold mirrors

that will reveal new scars

as I batter through

the wilderness

of kin I’ve never known.

As I approach the divide

between the rigid and malleable,

the dispensable articles

will fall and return to their sources.

The electronics will whirl,

heating my skin

in a humid swamp,

until I submerge

and close all circuits.

-Robert L. Jackson III