Saturday, August 4, 2012

A Poem by Zach Fechter

Horns In The Valley

There are horns in the valley,
Jazz tumbling over the edge
Like ice water,
Clean voices echo in the trees,
An age of light and sun, endless,
And whose soft face is there?

If there was a man here
Alone in the mist,
Beating the drum of solitude,
I would wish to join him.

Opening upward the gaze
Of men upon fields
Meaning youth,
Wishing for remembrance,
Statues to remind masses
Of the eternal crying out,
To remain young!

Old and wrecked rubble,
Scattered remains of a
Long dead poem,
The valley’s grass having
Swallowed it up long ago
As children now climb and stub their toes
On the retired colossus.

And through the tears
A blurry vision:
Humanity in her struggle
Limping across blank verse
To open our eyes
And cry upon the valley…

Zach Fechter lives in Southern California and has been published in multiple editions of Poetry Quarterly. He studied accounting at Roanoke College in Salem, Virginia. He is 24 years old.

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