Longing, we listen, but the stars mock us.
The great silence enfolds us endlessly.
God's passing shadow lies cold upon us
Without the soft whisper of the prophecy.
We sink beneath our bleak patrimony;
Halls too vast to echo swallow our ape
Chatter. All these countless rooms are empty;
Muffled hollow chambers without escape.
We are the dread Progenitors, cursed
Birthright stewards of infinity. Chance
Has baptized us the eldest. We are First.
I did not ask for this inheritance.
I dreamt of angel, friend, or enemy;
Never lone, pure responsibility.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Mark, this is fine poem, so apt for us all. I came across it doing a search for " stewards of infinity" , a title I'm considering for a sci-novel I'm working on.
Thank you for your kind comment. Best of luck on your novel.