JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

And so the argument rattles on

down twisting corridors millenniums long

whether we pay obeisance to tradition’s tune

librettos quoted from each learned source

or pretend to close our eyes, our ears and find our voice

our special calling, ours alone to call our song

 

Forgetting that the words we use today

the syllables and consonants we think are ours

were mouthed by monks and rabbis as they prayed

their incantations wailed from lofty towers

their thoughts, their aspirations written down

and passed from wrinkled hands like right and wrong

 

You see, it’s true that history’s a wall

and we are just brick layers after all