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The Child of Pompeii
Small hands can never hold back a mountain.
Small lives can never hold back the tide.
I see you now, child of Pompeii
Not actually whole but the space you once occupied
In ashen silence for two thousand years
In one sober stance since the day you died
Like the shadows stained into stone at Hiroshima
Like the hunted looking for a place to hide.
Your mother could not protect you from it
She simply sang a lullaby.
Your father could not protect you from it.
The big man did not even try.
And God would not protect you from it
And the fire fell from out the molten sky.
Were you caught behind a rushing mob?
Were you forced against a barren wall?
Was there time to gather your lost toys
Before you curled up tight in a fetal ball
Before the blackness bled down around you
Before you were no longer there at all?
In over three decades of reading poetry, I can safely say that this is one of the most moving, and most triumphantly beautiful, poems I have ever read. In fact, I intend to bookmark it for a second read later. Wow! I am at a loss for words (which does not often happen), and the only phrase I can think of is . . . The Right Stuff. You have the Right Stuff, my friend, and I applaud you for it!
Starward