On People

After reading The Odyssey.

Fire with light and heat--boil
and eyes with glowing shine,
oh twisting hands and clouds that roil
talk of days, speak of time.

Pounding feet of rhythmic dance
and songs a tongue caress;
words and notes by grunts of chance--
not knowledge nor a battered chest.

Now speak of these--of battles tell,
of horse and spear, of ship and shore,
the hunt of meat and shell--
watch the swift bird's flight, and hear the lion roar.

They may fight: men rebel,
war-torn muscles tire of toil.
The fight, blood, and gore soon lure
a man strapped to a harvesting tine.

Towards the sun, rising face
and labor hard--quiet rants.
A furrowed field, that sweating race--
a war, a battle, evolving test.