The Approaching War

THE APPROACHING WAR

The sorrow of a horse standing
in a stable goes on
Day and night.
The plane that crashes in the desert
Holds shadows under its wings
for thirty years.

Each time Rembrandt touches
his pen to the page,
So many Dutch barns fly up.
Perhaps that happens
Because earth has pulled
so many nights down.

Each time a hog, caught by one leg,
hangs upside down,
he looks at the ground from above.
Our elevation suggests
that the knife is approaching.

Things go on.
The weight of history begins
To bend us over once more.
It won¹t be long before
We put our heads down
on the chopping block again.

When we hear a Drupad singer
with his low voice patiently waiting
for the next breath,
We know the universe can get along
without us.

The writer of this poem
is forgetful like you.
For him, a century of forgetfulness
can go by in the space
of a single heartbeat.

-- Robert Bly

Posted over on Poets Against the War