“Horns In the Valley” by Zach Fechter


There are horns in the valley,

Jazz tumbling over the edge

Like ice water,

Clean voices echoing in the trees,

An age of light and sun, endless,

And whose soft face is there?

 

Here is a man

Alone in the mist,

Beating the drum of solitude,

And I wish to join him.

 

Here is old and wrecked rubble,

Scattered remains of a

Long dead poem,

The valley’s grass having

Swallowed it up long ago

As children now climb and stub their toes

On the retired colossus.

 

Now, opening upward the gaze

Of men upon fields

(Meaning youth),

Wishing for remembrance,

Erecting statues to remind masses

Of the eternal crying out:

To remain young!

 

And through the tears

A blurry vision:

Humanity in her struggle

Limping across blank verse

To open our eyes

And cry upon the valley…