Spark Flint For Fire Poem by Edmund V. Strolis
Spark Flint For Fire
Lost in this moment in time amid the feverish whirl
We imagine ourselves as wiser than those weathered men
Men who fell the forests, men who dammed the streams
Men who raised the cities, men with manifest dreams
Lost creatures of comfort in an impatient world
We need not raise an axe, nor spark flint for fire
We need not clear the land to plow the earth's face under
We need only flash cold plastic to satisfy our hunger
Gone is the ancient line that bound us to the seasons
We are outside the ancient fires our stories are forgotten
We are alien to the ancestral spirits scattered in the wind
We are lost, we have gone astray, we must choose to begin again
Yes, yes, yes, and are we not all responsible for killing Mother Earth? Am so involved in so much that is wrong with us as a planet...it try my best to get the message out - but one little voice is surely not enough. We must all care...we must all love this planet...we treat it as if when we destroy it we will have another to go to...The apathy NEEDS to end! The love needs to begin...everyone NEEDS to care and act in accord. Love this, Edmund!
Exactly we are caught in a feverish whirl. I really think i belong to old times. The fast pace of today's life is a bit too much for me. It wearies the soul. It's a life without freedom of heart n soul. We need to identify with nature to free our spirit. You have expressed it so well. Just my thought. I think poetry n nature are our consolations.10
Ancient line has gone pout and new freedom is interestingly realized. Seasons have bound ancient stories and they have started spreading new essence. Amazing poem shared....10
Hi Eddy, I find here a very powerful write pointing directly at the present-day maladies: We need....only plastic..to satisfy our hunger... We are lost We have gone astray We must choose to begin again A full-throated exhortation to mankind, to move away from his misdeeds of the past. Is anybody listening? Thank you for sharing.10++
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 11:20:19 PM # 1.0.0.1119
WOW! This is a true assessment of what we have gained in three centuries of rampant material progress, especially in the western world. Of course, that progress was paid for by a wholesale looting of the natural resources of the Third World. I see Thoreau reading a copy of this poem, and he's nodding his head. He's not smiling. Who could after such bitter truths are told unflinchingly?
We are all so very brave until those things, those artificial things fail us. I meet people that are so sure of things. Lofty universal things and I have to wonder if the convenience of living a push button life allows a person to judge too easily the circumstances and beliefs of mankind. We act brave and independent and yet if the power fails and we are without a generator we are only as strong as the batteries in our technology. We whimper and appearance lost and uneasy. The security of our rhythm has been turned upside-down. In the dark we have to face ourselves. We are children again our opinions on God and eternity and everything else may become quite different while seated by a midnight fire.