Who said reusable resources are a modern invention? Rubbish!

 

Palimpsest

It's said that no-one should ever die wondering

on which road to travel, how not to go blundering

in dangerous places, when it's best to be pondering

why the rain plays its tricks, why there's no distant thundering. . . .

 

As the years pass us by we add to our history,

little by little we work out the mystery

of how our small failures are turned into victory,

and the land of the free does not, necessarily, have liberty.

 

Each nugget of wisdom we tuck into our head

to strengthen our hold on the living and dead,

but sometimes we find that we're filling with dread

when admitting ourselves that we're losing the thread

 

of existence. Once said out aloud shame retreats

into anguish we feel when our goals meet defeats,

but recall, if you will, when your mind overheats,

that it's merely a palimpsest – of your many deceits.

 

Ah, the magical palimpsest, old Cicero's spin,

reflecting its history with marks on its skin,

transmitting the past and the present therein,

written dozens of times on the parchment within.

 

Over ancient companions shines Orion's Belt

on illuminant histories inscribed on the pelt;

three stars guide the broadsword of hunters who dwelt

in dark cages of ignorance, both imagined and felt.

 

How faint are the scratchings of those who record

the deeds of the worthy, who died by the sword:

Much clearer by far are the talents ignored

by their hubris: humility - its only reward.

 

Chris Hubbard

Perth

1996