Evening In Spring: A Prophecy Poem by Daniel Brick

June 2,2018

So this is Spring... This chilly night,
all songbirds and small creatures retired
for the night. The silence is like held breath,
and when exhaled, it's like the return of fire.

I must be thinking of unfinished business. My own,
for sure, but also the others who either put
their dreams on hold, while they wrap their minds
in necessity and resolutely do what is required.

Or they put these calculations on hold, and
(like the man I once was)indulge themselves in idle
thoughts, whims, wishes, glee - whatever keeps
them pleasantly drunk with drunkenness.

The old gods lead the way. Not in a complicated process
like playing chess or casting a horoscope, but by being
empty of intentions and hopes and fields of endeavor.
By being just their naked selves without hope or faith.

And small petals of sunset gold festoon those whose
minds are festive with disregard, who wait for largesse
with complete confidence in its arrival, despite their
indifference, their lack of any gesture of worth.

They will retire to their mountain palaces, and
sit grandly on available thrones, thinking themselves
equal to those former gods. Assume the mantle of Zeus,
or the prestige of shining Apollo, whatever fits snugly.

Their task is not to redeem those who cannot help
themselves, they are not among those gods who become
the sacrifice. They rather wait for a higher apotheosis,
fully aware of their unworthiness. What remains unfinished?

The path of Spring remains, and even at this moment
it is illumined with a new light from some unknown source
of goodness. Let the others who puff up their status
with stolen robes and rehearsed glory have their day.

Let us wait in Spring's beauty for a new Age of Glory.