History, a creature of habit shattered
endless across a thousand
into sword-sharp repetitions
brandished in the face
of foresight, salient in the
regret of retrospect.
Its ballad sings the praises
of infallible champions;
while erasing the uncordial conquered,
write offs into footnotes, like books and
civilisations burned. We personify
its being; a solemn warning weary
or some grand, sadistic hindsight
laughing maniacally. Apt to poison
the arrogant indifferent to its cause.
Perchance a watchful guardian,
this wise old aegis;
nagging keeper of our most
epic anecdotes, and the fragile illusion
of our pompous mirth.
History shall be trialed by fire
in the court of kings,
before a jury of lawless artists
painting unabashèd abstracts hung,
judged by poets Time displaced.
And while we revel
in our merry present day,
perhaps it is smiling
deceitfully unto the
drunken romance, of our oft
History, the nagging keeper.
People always say that those who ignore the past are condemned to repeat it. As of late however, that adage seems to be falling silent on deaf ears. Perhaps my free verse poem can change a few minds. -MC