Welcome, friends, to the second installment of my blank-verse poetry series The Compass Poems. This short series is born of a long-standing fascination with the four cardinal points on the compass, as well as certain associations that come with them. These associations and poems are not necessarily based in reality (many of the ideas come from Lewis and Tolkien), but as I write them, I discover elements of our own world creeping in. I thought the "East" poem would be the hardest, but as is usual with me, when I think of the sky, the rest just comes from that.
For your Tuesday:
The Compass Poems
This is the beginning.
This is where the sun rises.
This is where dusk begins to dust itself across the horizon.
We are cued by the eastern sky.
It whispers clues about what will happen.
It is a foretaste,
The source of the rumors.
Something hard glitters on the horizon,
Like a flash.
Everything is solid here,
Grounded like the bedrock of the ages.
All the east has its roots in the solid core of the earth.
It is old beyond measure.
It was here when the world began,
And it will be here when the world falls into ruin.
It is firm — it will not be changed
until all the earth is changed first.
You have never moved it before.
It will not be moved now.
The east whispers of hope and of death,
Of dawn and of night,
Of the sunrise over a sea —
or of the choking smog of death rising over ashen mountains.
This is the beginning
Of we know not what —
It holds the entire hope and the entire doom of the world
In its solemn hands.