Listen:
Can you hear that faraway clamor?
Perhaps, Poseidon’s ploy to destroy
Our own recited scheme...
Closer than remains, the sea, the holy scene,
And the acreage advancing like a rampart between.
That tumultuous din that reverberates across the tilted plains of this old world,
Connective tissues to something new.
Our own barren flesh made weak by impotence of voyage,
And theory, askew.
Arbitrary sway, this day is another’s, not our own.
So refrain be our only hope,
And through a hallowed scope,
We pray for home.
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