“The War”
From Night of dark to day, shields holding fast through
Tragedies and hoards the monarch builds,
Out of the sun’s light assent of shadow, stinging
The last arduous rebellion of
Man above crimson blocks from the gutting of the gorge,
war comes.
Its sword
Cuts down another virtue, it’s axe
Is that of a dense steel belch, we hear
The weightless cries of the mother of the brightest day.
The cry of each sword is ripe with the stains of our brethren.
Look! Look! It is culling the last of our rites,
That know neither cries nor blood, and under,
Which god, unforgiving, the monarch, unforgiven, hides
In his shadow.
Come now,
The sword shall thrust still, the axe shall quarter
Now those who fight from the blindness of the truth. Its form
Is wise, too, and invisible. The horn
Is loud like Heimdallr and his Gjallhorn.
If there were no shadow we might, we think, hear
The earth cry on its axis, for history
Drips in darkness like the blood from the tooth of a tiger.
(“Evening Hawk” Robert Penn Warren)
Imitation poem
To read more of Thanasi's work, please visit his website.