Edgar Allen Listening to Thunder near Henry David’s Place

A Poem About Time and Eternity

I walk to Walden Pond around on cool night crisp in Concord Town.

The pond is deep, the forest black, where from a shadowed cabin shines a yellow light, foursquare and bright, through curtains stained with ancient brine.

Thick racing sky serenely holds dark armies in her vaporous folds.

March on, lost legions from the past, your souls reflect the rising surf of churning ocean born beneath where feet now stomp the solid earth.

No worry now of losing ground and sinking swift, forever down.

But Whisper calls creation’s ghost as leafless trees allow the rush of wind, and shudder at the sound, which from the main invades the dusk.

Ten thousand boots through crashing waves from distant shores make frantic praise.

A face forgotten slowly hides behind a curtain in the breeze, for now a restless tide disturbs the stillness of eternity.