Sparkatale

Of Metals and of Multitudes

I saw a crowd upon a grassy plain

Amid the torrid heat of far-off summer,

Assembled there in circles all around

Beside a lake that long ago ran dry

Beneath the scorching of a vengeful sun.

And deep within that multitude,

A clearing lay, and everyone stood staring;

There sat a figure staring at the ground,

His fist was clenched, his face was wracked with anger -

And of that multitude, no-one knew why.

I saw reflected in his eyes

A world so different from our own,

Of enemies surrounding, staring in

And passing judgement on a figure

So maligned, and long cast out.

He raised his fist to heaven

And he drew a mighty breath,

And he cursed that multitude

That had maligned him, and he battled

Ever on, with bravery he conjured from somewhere.

And each one stared then on

With such amazement, and each one

Felt then so injured, and the crowd

Began to vanish, each one going

Some new direction.

And the figure sat alone upon that plain,

Ever cursing that dispersing multitude,

Ever wondering why his life was full of villains,

And I stood there then transfixed, and I wept

For such a dark and such a lonely destiny.

20/3/19