I Stand Now On This Graveyard
I stand now on this graveyard,
The modern barbarian, hair streaming in the wind.
War and long locks never stay long from fashion.
Here, hard packed beneath my feet,
The bones of my fathers lay
Wrapped in mouldering clothes and sweat-stained soil,
Pushed down by roots of trees and skyscrapers alike.
My great-great-grandfather's iron sword, undisturbed for millenia,
Parallels a buried phone line that carries the whispers of lovers.
Unchanged, that: war is set aside for passion.
The next generation marches forward,
Spear and shield against the stylus and notepads of
Fate's bean counters.
Cars cross the bridge behind me with a steady boom
Like the beating of some giant's drum,
A colossal shaman calling forth spirits
From the rusted remains of yesterday's marvels.
Where chariot once carried soldier and archer
Now runs the mechanical horses
Under hood of car, in locomotive.
Glassy-eyed hobos turn to follow the voice of the iron pukka.
Reaching down I touch the dust