Epigone Poem by michael hanthala

Each of us at this juncture inside this holographic dream then and now
One by one from the beginning of pond scum, panspermia and far beyond
Alone here by a path self-made by every step trod
Walk in darkness, tell me what you see?

We tip-toe upon the shoulders of giants
Just another insignificant flea
Gazing over the mysterious panorama
What now do you believe?

We stroll together, yet alone in our gloom
Billions upon billions blind but to a dime
Sprites flash as angels far above us
As we reach to grasp the fading afterglow of ethereal lucidity

We speak to each other across a gulf within this great obscurity of self
To find comfort and belonging outside another impenetrable shell
From the fear of an inevitable demise that is our greatest mystery
So we pine for our heroes of yesterday in myopic nostalgic melancholy



The bracing bite of a squall assails one and all
So we clothe ourselves in the skins of ancestral apparitions and the revered
Frost-bitten beaten red and black we trudge on through the howling wail of voices we almost discern
Still and silent transfixed huddled by the fire the young the old we stare into the embers begging for the voice of fallen kin …whispering

Heroes of lore like che- schweitzer-mlk-rachel corrie-victor jara –manning-snowden millions more
Garner deeds and voices echo in cadence rattling our conscience as we lay laurels at their memories
Resonance pulsates along spider web connections sparking inspiration
Rise up and take their place or shuffle away in shame

We are simply after-born
The latest layer of copies diluted and filtered from a flawless jolt
Do we bow before adam and eve
The launch of this mythological hokum

Ah, but to do the family name proud
To gather at holidays to argue and show off
Reflections of a mirrored-self but merely delusional illusion
Are you simply in love with yourself or do you distain such pretentious superficiality?

As faint copies of billions what is left?
The accumulated sum or aging process to extinction
We are 6 of 100 and do we continue after this
Is history a dusty forgotten page to be discarded or embedded forever by strings?

Is our untouched future
Not just the accumulation of layered greatness laid down by our heroes?
As we become faint dissolving copies translucent fading
While an event horizon is just up ahead?