Lately I am stricken

as the plots to dear and mortal earth do thicken—

kneel, kneel lest it all too readily quicken—

for like the desert winds of old Sahara,

it burns to know the subtle motions Terra

should pass me by to other eras.


Rage, rage the old man writes

yet dead is light at the sour sight

of youth so bitter cast, paralyzed by fright;

where is devotion to seek out age

where privilege become but flesh and cage,

and still the younger cry: engage, engage.

9 thoughts on “Stricken

  1. Lots of mournful but very adept classical echoes here Chris, and great interior and end rhyme. I wouldn’t be young again even to be young, if you know what I mean. I can take an Aleve for most of my aching.

  2. Every time I read your work I am reminded that yours is an old soul, your talent honed over many lives. This exemplifies those qualities. Wisdom plaited with the eagerness of youth. Skilled, pure and simple.

  3. I love the whole thing, especially the repetition, but that last stanza is amazing.
    “where privilege become but flesh and cage,” is so fresh to me. Flesh and cage. I love that..thanks.

  4. The fires of passion are given to youth. With wisdom comes a body slow, passions still reside, but one learns to choose one’s battles and know what reserves of strength can be used for. It is always necessary for youth to listen first and then pick up the gauntlet. Lovely poem Chris. I am glad the passion for good and right rest in the hearts of men like you. I hope it will always be so and can affect a change for good.

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