A Kurdish boy walks down the stands of a stadium turned into a displacement camp in
(AP Photo/Yahya Ahmed)
from Last Things
by William Meredith
for Robert Lowell
IV
At the edge of the Greek world, I think, was a cliff
To which fallen gods were chained, immortal.
Time is without forgiveness, but intermittently
He sends the old, sentimental, hungry
Vulture compassion to gnaw on the stone
Vitals of each of us, even the young, as if
To ready each of us, even the old, for an unthinkable
Event he foresees for each of us—a reckoning, our own.
7 comments:
for peace
Peace, and witness
I witness.
for peace
for peace, and the world's children
Witness.
The Relics
by John Fuller
And after all, paper is all we know
And yet we feel antiquity about us.
The world's a room in which we come and go
And once the world was much the same without us.
A field turns up the blades that seized a victory
Although it is forgotten now who won.
The fig-tree is the grandson of the fig-tree
That was the great-great-grandson of the one
That Petrarch knew, and now in Luberon
You can go strolling up a brambly plateau
And see Lacoste, the home of the de Sades
(Laura's relations, it is said), all gone
When revolutionaries sacked the château
And sold its stone for middle-class façades.
For peace and healing
Peace Now
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