Untimely Realities
The monuments have fallen,
Or at least they are out of sight.
But, we do hardly notice,
We have no sense of our plight.
Because we are surrounded
By all these trinkets and kitch—
Ornaments and copies galore—
For more, we don't give a stitch.
So our lives float and flutter
In the wind like pretty flags,
Until they fade, fray and rip
Like discarded plastic bags.
They were only just banners
Blowing in the storms of hell:
Blank and thin and meaningless,
Burned by the sulfur when they fell.
Nothing more can we manage
To make of our lives than that
Without monuments, north stars,
Works of bravery and art:
Senseless, shallow tragedies.
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