A Ballade of Natural Remorse

A Ballade of Natural Remorse

A Poem by Dietrich von Crowe
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Format of a ballade (with envoi as finale). Inspired by "Hoover and the Flood" painting at Morris Museum of Art.

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Those things of iron, of our epic steel,
Whose blighting directions strives to translate
Us from sea to shining sea, where all ideal
Conceptions must be only for the great,
Those things of smoke filled skies that we create
And the sun, dark mournful clouds conceal;
Heaven’s humble light, coerced, must wait
For hellish fires to fade away and lament we feel.
 
Mother, vast in her sagacious sight,
Will see the tears her children weep,
And she listens to us, to our doleful plight,
Caressing our faces as we sleep,
Yet there are those foul deeds we keep,
To scorn our mother despite her might,
To accept those sins those things reap,
And for her, there is no flight or fight.
 
But our mother can never forget
That we are still her children, sweet fruit
Of hers and our Father’s forged sweat,
So her tears are shed with dark repute
And strike the children, strike us mute
With flooded hopes and dreams, regret,
To teach us of some new pursuit:
To avoid those things’ silhouette.
 
Envoi
 
`T was the will of a righteous mind
That we should consider our mother’s course,
That her torrential tears should remind mankind,
Of our dreadful natural remorse.

© 2009 Dietrich von Crowe


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Added on February 4, 2009
Last Updated on February 18, 2009