Sunset viewed from La Ciaccia, Sardinia, July 2014, photograph © Dominic Blackwell.
by Dominic Blackwell
And in the corner waits the sage.
The mind wails,
Flight beckons —
And yet the grindstone fails to yield.
The answers are not there.
And in the rising darkness,
The people with the crescent, cross and dollar,
Fundamentals sure and convictions clear,
Tell us why the world is flat.
Drowning in postmodernist soup,
We fail to resist their call.
Perhaps (although we cannot know for sure),
Some answers are better than none.
Yet somehow in the chaos,
We know we have gone too far.
We can’t resurrect what is now dead and gone —
The future is not the past.
(Albert and Jean-Paul,
Friedrich and William,
Really had a point,
What we live by is what we make —
We are gods if only we knew it)
While Hagen grasps,
And Siegfried’s dead,
Valhalla burns in flames.
But here is the way forward:
Freed by our captivity,
Unshackled from what we are not,
The world is fresh to start again —
What we build can be beautiful.