Slow Grinding Of Time Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

The slow grinding of Time
as to the giant stone slab
that grinds the chaff and
wheat
in the mill underneath:
the slow grinding of Time
how deep it be
flying arrow that suddenly
decreases speed
then halts
faces grow glum
then white and gaunt:
and blanched
ah! Time's slow grinding
the horse
that running was with
majestic manes:
but now
there's a bronze figure
of the horse
motion all ceased
with one leg less
that such a horse needs not
except for standing:
September coming
the Horse at the entry
of the old city
will the storms soon
face
and the ungentle winds
and the blizzards of rain
and the cruel drops of water chill
and the frights from thundering
in the long distance
over other towns and places
heard yet here
in the Old City entrance
the Horse immotile and powerless
commands the glances of the populace
yes
yet
the glances dark smiling shallow
proud - all sorts of
emotion; all
sorts of living
awhile
the slow grinding of
runes hummed by the skies
people hurrying up and down
the streets and squares:
and all above Gloom hidden
look, views and grimaces.