FIREBIRDS

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