Poetry Metaphysics Mythology Natural History Politics Poetry


Poetry: History


There is always an Empire
somewhere, and somewhere
an arid plain, restless only
with dust. In temples, and
in palace corridors,
men of power and purpose
act with deliberation.

In jungles, snakes bask
easily on hewn stone,
night spiders in patient ambush
crouch beneath fragments
of water pots.

Does the tree, falling in
the fullness of its time,
find ears to hear? In a day,
millions of insects perish,
undetected even by
their killers, and
millions more hatch, each
unaware of the careless
footfall which has provided
the surety of a little space,
a short existence of
constant hunger.
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