The Old Myth                                                                                                                                             Cole McKeith

 ———

 

Fire arcs from a blade of flame;

the violent sound of engines rage

as they who called their home a cage

dream to cleanse the skies of shade.

The sky is roughed in spiraled black

but this ancient myth neglects Earth's wrath.

And so afraid of leaving last,

they built their silver Arks too fast.

This ancient myth was greater dead

than fastened by a Golden Thread,

whose arms, they knew, would sooner tire,

but placed their hopes in Golden Wires.

 

The old look fast for smoke to grasp;

the young behind to mourn the lapse.

There remains no path to gently pass

the nature of a Devil, Glass.

 

But there is one amidst the blitz

who knows too well Earth's bitter kiss.

On her perch, the Darkling sits

as songs of Summer leave her lips.

She watches as the rockets fume

and streak the skies in sparkling plumes.

And when they were gone, the Darkling knew

that they would fly as Icarus flew.

Swept with song, the Darkling tires

and lets her hold on Golden Wires.

Her ancient song is greater dead;

she severs all her Golden Threads.

 

When they were gone the dawn was quiet,

And upon the beating pulse of the heart's disquiet,

A heart began to sing.

And soon passed.

 

But the stars had quickly swept along,

Upon a desperate poet's song,

 

Singing out to the blossoming dawn:

We Are The New Myth.

We Are The New Myth.