The statue caught my eye.
The man of bronze looked at me, and I heard
on the wind
something singular
that spoke with voices legion.
Voices that had given
much;
their last,
best measure…
“Don’t fall backwards.”
The voice of the few
and the many
implored
“Don’t fall backwards.
Don’t give ground.
Go forward.
More to do.
Much, much, more.”
Much later I would try to convince myself that the man of bronze could not have spoken, the children of bronze could not have watched me with eyes the color of bombed churches and torched buses.
Much later I would try to find security in rational lies. I would try to un-hear what I heard.
But in the midnight hour
Always in the midnight hour
like an old, tired song
I hear them clearly.
With the voice of men
who go down to the sea in ships
and war heroes
swinging from southern trees
they cry
“More, more, more!”
—words and photos copyright 2012 HT
Heroic Times 