Counterclockwise

Time runs backward, as it seems to do for those
About to die. The roads are broken. Schools
Are closed. The freedman finds himself again
Enslaved, but huddles close to he who has
Reshackled him. The manor has a sturdy wall,
And those inside, the serfs and nobles, fear
They are a threatened tribe. The gate has
Closed to keep out others. Let them fight
Among themselves, while here, between our
Shifts as guards, we bind ourselves to ancient
Creeds, and blind ourselves to any sign of
Progress toward a golden age. We no longer
Have a future. Time runs backward, taking
Us toward the baser-metal ages of our
Wretched past.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 18 times
Written on 2012-05-26 at 13:56

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