A Poem On The Dawn Of History- - Poem by Nathan Coppedge

History as we know it is quite brief, so lift a pen and bend a sheaf, history's victorious rarely win—

Let me speak of victory, in the meak tone of defeat, but let it be known I sometimes win—

You may find here samples of this mystery—that history is born-again!

I stopped calling things eachother

Long before I knew

I'd found a way between the walls—

Where I might always go—

Where I might go to sing—

Sing to the remnants and the blooms

And before I returned—

Sing of how easy it was, and as easy as I could name—

Watch the sunlight turn again—

Against each dying name in twilight,

Broke upon the hungry deed,

Of evincing intellectual myth from iconic starlight

As metaphysical as a fish.

While they were floundering, I was pondering,

No more wandering through the dark tunnels of grim determination—

For no! It is time to grow in a thousand-folded folds,

For which we need an infinite fuel!