(long Poem :) The Last Child Of Revolution Poem by Christos R. Tsiailis

A soul gang’d been travelling without worlds, outside Cosmos.
Drawn to fire, they penetrated the core of every moving planet
Yet, when they tasted here and a million-year-old now
They feared that they were brought to live,
lessened to their eternal infinite.
A thought that flew upon them,
Worried not to this blue atmosphere to settle
They stayed unseen behind the perplexed horizon of the magnificent volcanoes
moving the lands around to shape a puzzle.
For millions of years they had been breathing thin air,
appeared red white and grey shaped in the sky.
They sang from the lungs of the northern frozen winds,
All along liaisons with the blazing eye
Yet at nights in conspiracy with a tiny satellite just outside.
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The souls’ ambivalence was judged when time came.
Noble a leader they were asked to throne.
In denial they sank, they hid, but found they struck.
All water froze when they were read the Riot Act*
and they discussed the end of shame
And chose perdition
Last thousand years on their solemn kingdom they cried loneliness and passion
and on the shining thunders they sledged all the way to the highest tips of Earth.
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All the way down, away in every way.
Burning rocks they grabbed to smoothen the fall,
but they vaporized back in the sky
and again got rained back.
For thousands of years, burning rocks and rain, rain and burning rocks.
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Until they disguised themselves in the simplest amalgam of earthen matter.
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Grateful to have gained voice on my own, (here I stand)
breathing earthen, dusted air
with weight and length, shaped dough, a solid figure,
two years on four, a century running, sweating, falling and rising
and just before I buy my third leg
the same thought comes to me
that I should go back to the departing gang
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*Act of Parliament passed in 1715 to prevent Riots