Rod Mendieta

Crystal Hopes

The hordes of oldest father Chaos
Fronted by woolly beasts on elephant feet
Hollering with the din
Of a thousand blaring trumpets
Stomping over orderly worlds
Over and over again through eons.

Glimmering towers of crystal
And edifices of porcelain
Broken and grinded to dust
Blown in the angry winds,
Always the fate awaiting all
Delicate works of the finest spirit.

Empty hands gathering stones
For the new cities that must be built
Of sturdier materials,
Though stronger battlements
And parapets will always hide
The same old brittle hearts.

And from the myriad shards
Left behind by receding hordes
Over and over again through eons
There will spring anew
The delicate blooms
Of the same old crystal hopes.

Topic(s) of this poem: hope

Poem Submitted: Friday, January 5, 2018

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