The emperor
pressed his palm
against the earth
and crushed us all
to dust.
Powdered,
wind-blown,
to the fields,
where,
anon,
the crop would grow.
Rust-brown,
our iron swords,
plowshares ignored,
sank into the earth
and became the bones
of the new ship,
Europa,
as she sailed
into the bleak unknown,
with a tattered sail
unknowingly made
from Charlemagne’s
soiled robes.
©️ 2019.
We also visited ol’ Charlemagne in Aachen. The image is a bust of extraordinary detail and craftsmanship. I have many more ‘treasure’ images to share once I return home.
Whoa!! I love how you can say so much… when you say very little. Excellent writing.
Thank you! Just needed a little prodding to quit being lame.
Oh you! I’m so happy to see your poetry here again.