Sketch of a poem.
Kristian Järventaus
the blood that flees to the hazy air,
and hardens the muscle that creaking toils
to take thine body from thy lair,
out to valleys adornéd green and blue
blackened with rock and that breath of thine,
and which thy trail-prints cut clean through,
with the iron that is thy delirious design.
O iron carriage, heed thy Master
obey my words, and carry me faster!
through the world in this dream-skirring sledge,
take me to its outermost edge!
The way ahead before our eyes is swift,
though littered with scorn, with scoff, and doubt,
but let no doubt bring thy heart to rift,
let the valleys of thy mind be stout,
before the onslaught of the naysayers,
who shiver in their bareskinned thought,
that their god, who cannot heed their prayers,
is not God who has Science wrought.
So break through their fears and feast on its remains,
and bring the whole Cosmos into our hands,
to wash away the daub Ignorance sets its stains,
that colour all peoples of all of these lands.
And when that promised day arrives,
then shall I call you, iron-heartéd,
to collect the fates of all whose lives
enlightened ended and luminant departed
from this world to Oblivion's naught.
For even when they're silent forever,
they left their echoing word and thought,
will never be silenced, and live on forever,
as the memory of those who Science had wrought.
--
The first verse was actually written ages ago, and the latter parts
were added recently, which might explain why the subject-matter was
"side-railed" (sic and forgive).
--
Kristian Järventaus