A Fable of the Anadromous
Too young they travelled in their mother's arms
to far off places where the air was free,
and grew like puppies deaf to war that harms
and sure their lives would flourish by decree
of rational man and mores. Then one day
the mirror told them they were puny, dark;
they blamed their mother, asking, Where’s our pa?
and when she heard their constant question mark
she told them, “In the past, where honey grows,
and sainted ancestors sleep in the sod.”
They upped and left her garden: yes, youth flows,
abandoning a mother’s choice of god.
They travelled without arms to zones of war;
they found their father, fighting, bold and scarred;
they chose the god they had suspected bore
the right to godly Right, no other yard
the one they’d play in. They put on their arms,
and armed with Right, they grew and travelled back
to where they’d grown, far from the fire that harms,
and planned a fine surprise, a bold attack
upon the mirror and their mother, who
distorted what was fine, paternal, right,
worth dying for - said Wise Ones - true,
no longer darkened by her foreign light.
They gathered all their toys, their books, their friends,
they heaped them in their garden, lit a fire,
and made a bonfire that would surely cleanse
the garden of each clytemnestral liar
and exploded all the rational men and more,
their godless ideas, pleasures, knowledge, art
and naked nature, faults and risks, the store
of man’s inquiries, for inside the heart
god cannot be if mankind breaks the laws
he’s found in revolution, with the shout
of violent un-creation, and the jaws
of death will spare the man who will not doubt.
LRH
4.24.13
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Truly stunning. I love it.