(September 25, 1930 – May 10, 1999 / Chicago/ Illinois)

The Pylons

The secret of these hills was stone, and cottages
Of that stone made,
And crumbling roads
That turned on sudden hidden villages

Now over these small hills, they have built the concrete
That trails black wire
Pylons, those pillars
Bare like nude giant girls that have no secret.

The valley with its gilt and evening look
And the green chestnut
Of customary root,
Are mocked dry like the parched bed of a brook.

But far above and far as sight endures
Like whips of anger
With lightning's danger
There runs the quick perspective of the future.

This dwarfs our emerald country by its trek
So tall with prophecy
Dreaming of cities
Where often clouds shall lean their swan-white neck.

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Comments (12)

" And when the embers dying we are lying in the afterglow" Worthy modern poem of the Day. Congrats.
Baby Let's, we hug the world and its time with every inch of our love as like as the breathing......../// beautiful poem
So sweetest poem! Well deserved Poem as MPOTD, this All The Time In The World by Shel Silverstein. CONGRATULATIONS to the family of the late Shel. Saddest that he cannot know that he had won this Poem Hunter Trophee. A myriad of 10´s for this beautiful poem.
Such a beauty! ! Loved all the stanzas equally. Marvelous! !
Such a beautiful poem and so well deserving Poem Of The Day.
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