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Poetry: History

 

The Tower of Babel

Each morning, we rose.
Before the sun renewed the horizon,
we rose, and ate,
                  as slaves eat,
and turned our faces toward
the Tower.
            Each day,
the Tower rose.  Dull as a giant,
early from sleep, the Tower rose,
and shifted,  and turned  its face 
toward the Sun.

The King decreed:  a Tower unto heaven.
The King decreed:  and we rose,
and ate, and heaved,  each day, 
a little closer to         the Sun.
      The Tower shifted, and blinked.
Each day,  a little nearer.  At twilight,
the Giant stretched:  at night, 
the stones chuckled
                  and winked.

It is said, now, that some God grew angry 
at the Tower, and, in his anger,
struck it down, or
                   struck the slaves with
the dubious gift of Tongues.

But, I was there --  what need for tongues, 
when these are men?
                      No,
the Tower grew each day until the Sun 
was vulnerable.  The Giant extended his arms
and gathered in the clouds:

and the sky wept.

See, here, where the stones stand:  see!
              how the mortar washes away....
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