This poem is a prelude of sorts to Gomorrah, a seven part poem I wrote. I had not planned really to write a prelude, or any more of the poem for that matter, but this came to me and called for me to do so. If you are interested, the rest of Gomorrah can be found:
Keepers of The Last Verse
We were named The Keepers of the Last Verse.
Knowing nothing of ships we set sail to The New
Land that was once Old. Before entering the valley,
in the mountains we built The Shrine. Aienu, The
Sun God, The Crownless Peacock King, spilt his
blood over the evening sky.
The valley was empty and life bearing when we
arrived. It was We who founded The City. Built
The Library over The Ancient’s Alter. Dug out The
Catacombs for The Old Gods to watch under us.
Placed The Door deep therein. Began The Festivals.
Set watch at The Gates. Formed their opening
and closing Ceremonies.
We tilled the soil. Harvested The First Fruit for its
wisdom before The Tribes arrived. Nomads who settled
in the valley. Becoming artisans, architects, financiers,
politicians, merchants. They laid the roads and
erected the buildings. The Three Spiraling Towers
to please Aienu and his wife, Linti, Goddess of
The Sleeping Star, The Crowned Mongoose Queen.
The Tribes crafted the bells that have chimed in metered
time ceaselessly ever since.
We became The People and The Tribes Citizens of
The City. Together the valley prospered and grew
in our care. We shared much of our knowledge with
The Citizens. Our Library was opened to them. But the
secret of The Door, the hidden ways of The Catacombs,
and The Last Verse We retained. These We passed by story
and song only to our children in The House of Life that will
one day be left abandoned.