Time Does Not Live Here Anymore
Agèd and listless!—
Time does not live here anymore!
The broken, battered, balding plains
covered in dead washed free
or the inequality of
equal creations in their births.
Where is life in peaceful worlds?
the fearless, deathless, Elysian fields?
There rests Achilles, without shield,
without threat—a shadow himself.
For time lives here not anymore!
Odysseus weathered so true,
could not see the hero’s longing
release from monotonous death—
the un-life immortality,
the fearless nature bread from ends
of lost loves in relinquished lives.
When will there be…
another great Age of Heroes?
another Nestor or Ajax?
When will there be…
glory gathered through combat?
glory in forging warriors?
When will the Age of Kronos be?
Because time cannot live here.
It is not welcome in the Age
of Man, this, the Age of Women—
where frailty is lifted to the heavens,
embalmed in gold and drenched in myrrh.
Here there is freedom to fall, to be stepped
on by feathered shoes, slapped in the face
by cotton and scolded by fierce-less claws.
Time does not live here anymore.
It cannot live where fear is not.
Extinct like the gods that granted
fire, the gods that granted quests,
challenging us to overcome
frailty rather than embrace it.
It does not live here anymore,
because we wont allow it.
What do you think?
Since I am no poet, try these out. They are better... I promise.
- The Unitneresting Self
It's one in the morning as I spread the final touches over thick slices of bread. I am too cheap to own a toaster. And I wonder why I can't sleep. They are caked with butter. The thinly sprinkled sugar...
- The Unitneresting Self 2
It is such a welcomed relief. Gently I place the glass on the counter and fill it with the contents of bourbon. I laugh to myself in that not so funny tone that there is not enough present to do the job. I...
- The Stories Alden Gardner
I. The sun broke threw the grey afternoon illuminating the high-pitched screams of children playing and the bareness of the trees and the yellows and reds of dead leaves decorating a small suburban block....
- Stories Alden Gardner Part 3
Looks as if Im gonna smell again today. Jesus, youd think I could be on time for a six-thirty shift. Alden reached to the floor and grabbed a T-shirt and jeans. After quickly checking his hair and...
- The Stories Alden Gardner (part 2)
His heartbeat echoed in his head. Alden drank gin, over ice and no mixers, so his eye lids hung partially open. There was no pain, only the lethargic reality of a dehydrated brain. His body was thin and his...
Of The Age Of Heroes
A better poem, by a better poets
- Poem: Apricots and Prunes
This nonsense little poem is about when you've eaten too many apricots and prunes. It makes light of diarrhea.