The Creation and The Four Ages

This is another Poem blog so enjoy.

PS: I decided I am just going to select stories from ovid to write poems about.  The entire Metamorphoses is just too much.  I will try to have Apollo and Daphne by the end of the weekend.      

The Creation:

In the beginning:

There was a great a chaos of memories

Clashing for form

In the infinite abyss

Of my prenatal language.     

In what great time do my words exist then?

In what realm, if any—like a falling rose, caught between two voids of peril—

Does my psyche find a voice,

And Extend beyond the heavy collective imagination;

Already saturated with the fragrant words

Of a thousand or more,

Infamous poets.

I conceive this poem for myself than,

An ancestor of Prometheus,

Ingrained in the dank soul,

A student of many disciples

Who now has his own domain. 

The Four Ages:

The Golden Age

In my life,

I have known a time,

Where the smell of flowers—

Many species, I still do not know—

Was enough

(Like mamma’s stitched quilt)

To enshroud me in an existence,

More succulent than:

Any river of primordial nectar.

The Silver Age:

However, in the transition of a life:

We lose our youth,  

And Golden times—

It seems—

Break

Into various seasons. 

I remember the fragrant pollen of spring

Receding into a pestilential summer,

 And the myriad of red and yellow foliage

 Succumbing

To the heavy white lumps of midwinter.

I think—

Yet I still do not know—

That this must have been the year

 I started school,

And time finally found definition.            

  The Bronze Age/ The Iron Age:

And now that seasons and days

Are more marked

 By the viscous necessity of

An escaping time,

I find myself fearful of the future.

Why is it that now, at the age of 17,

I find myself receding into

Wooded nooks, in a deep maple forests,

Dreaming only of gold—eclipsed in bronze.

And here, now,

As I compose this poem,

My Heart is of solid Iron. 

Each day yields new sorrow,

For I cannot help my greed,

And I cannot help but thinking of the

Fragile structure we created due to greed. 

And perhaps soon,

A flood will come,

And we will remember compassion once more.