The Mundane Poem by Jack Rolph

The Mundane



Some believe a place of peace exists upon this earth,
A place of ruined temples and splendour lost to time;
of gilded arches, marbled streets and sincere, solemn prayer
spoken of with nostalgia or embalmed in rhyme.

Many souls have sought to build this place of which I speak,
to kindle glory once again through their sweat and pain,
yet each time a golden sun peers lowly upon their work,
what should have been transcendental has become mundane.

Their forebears will wonder briefly at the marvels they behold,
yet never fully grasp that which their ancestors desired,
for all that was ever built is but a shadow of a mind
fashioning a palace in the squalor of the mire.

Yet only in this mire is a place of peace to be found,
Wading unto a setting sun through wet and sodden ground.

Saturday, July 26, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: work
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Jack Rolph

Jack Rolph

Norwich, England
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