there followed a silence
for a brief eternity beyond
the wildness of human minds.
We found no sense in this.
All we could see was fire.
Scorched feathers clouded the scene
when the flames moved like sea waves
to the shores of another land
far from the dream of Parnassus.
The heat that chokes the throat
burns the song before it sings.
No living creature could hear
the passing of the lost.
Every future was fallen
as the firebirds fled.
There was a haze at noon
and the midnight embers glowed.
What remain are mere shadows.
What they leave behind is everything.
In memory of Jonathan Miller and George Steiner
Categorised in: Article
This post was written by Geoffrey Heptonstall