At Knossos, Thinking of an Old Lover by David W. Landrum
At Knossos, they had tampered with the ruins,
painted the lintels red, not left them pale
like what we saw at the Acropolis.
I thought of you, as I gazed at frescos of
the female bull-riders in their loin-cloths,
bold and bare-breasted, with their jet-black hair,
afraid of nothing, leaping over horns,
riding the terror. All of that was quelled,
our guide explained: a massive tidal wave
washed over ancient Crete. Minoan life
drowned in minute’s terror. Only ruins
stand as a testimony to that world
gone silent, language lost, its song and dance
forever stilled, its poetry undone.
David W. Landrum's My poetry has been published widely in such journals as Del Sol Review, Umbrella, Christianity & Literature and many others. He edits the on-line poetry journal, Lucid Rhythms, www.lucidrhythms.com.
painted the lintels red, not left them pale
like what we saw at the Acropolis.
I thought of you, as I gazed at frescos of
the female bull-riders in their loin-cloths,
bold and bare-breasted, with their jet-black hair,
afraid of nothing, leaping over horns,
riding the terror. All of that was quelled,
our guide explained: a massive tidal wave
washed over ancient Crete. Minoan life
drowned in minute’s terror. Only ruins
stand as a testimony to that world
gone silent, language lost, its song and dance
forever stilled, its poetry undone.
David W. Landrum's My poetry has been published widely in such journals as Del Sol Review, Umbrella, Christianity & Literature and many others. He edits the on-line poetry journal, Lucid Rhythms, www.lucidrhythms.com.
