"Courage"

Written after reading “Adam’s Curse” by W.B. Yeats, 5/23/18.

It was the golden hour.
Golden, golden, golden,
In so many more ways than one.
We lay stretched back in the grass—
Lazy, peaceful.
But my heart was pounding,
My brain, busy.
But oh, how everything was golden, clear,
Despite the misty sea-haze.
A date in Palos Verdes at the glass chapel on the cliff…

Breathtaking.

The air, rich and tingling with meaning,
With hope. Content.

We talked of many things.

“Courage.”

Poised with thought, eyes bright
With spirit and with sorrow
In his boyish, old-man way,
“We need courage,” he said,
“All of us—our generation.
That’s what my professor said.”
And I nodded and agreed, and thought.
A generation afraid—
That’s what we were.
I saw it in myself.
Little dreaming
How true it also was of him.
The fearful boy won out
And I was left to hope, to wonder,
And wonder, and wonder, and wonder,
A sad victim (or specimen?) of a generation afraid,
Too cowardly to fail.

And here I stand, afraid.
Silly to speak of courage now.
It’s dusk now, nearly twilight.
Silent, but not calm.
Not peaceful.
I huddle here alone.
Rosy-fingered dawn will come soon, perhaps.
But I don’t see it or feel it.

“Courage.”

—No.
A generation too afraid.
We wallow in darkness and shadow,
Though we parade—like him—
In light.

Oh, for a golden hour truly golden!
Rich and heavy with true content.
Tingling with conviction to fight
—and maybe die.

Start with me.