Every now and then, you enter the Zone so completely, with such connection and understanding, that you become one with whatever it is you are doing. It is like drinking the liquid luck potion Professor Slughorn gave to Harry Potter; knowing that “Stairway to Heaven” will be the best rock song ever; Wisconsin will beat Kentucky; the San Francisco Giants will win three world championships in five years. The Zone is a very special place that renders a feeling unlike anything else in the world: this is good.
A few days ago I wrote a kick-ass poem. I knew it was kick-ass with that absolute certainty that comes only from the Zone. I posted it as part of the April Poetry Month challenge on the Linkedin discussion group, Poetry and Literature. I also posted it on Poemhunters.com, a site for poetry enthusiasts of all types and preferences, where I myself have discovered several great poets. I got confirming responses right away, from both postings. So, with humility, and knowing that many of you are not really into poetry at all, I offer it to you, my Zepplin moment:
//Lament of Those Who Did Not Fall
//There are those who did not fall,
//Who now stand, hunched, weighed down,
//Whose stoic resistance
//To the embrace of Death
//Brought them home to just grow old
//Clinging to memories
//They now wish they did not own.
//Each will succumb soon enough,
//Each will take their place
//Among their fallen comrades,
//Among the innocent no one meant to kill,
//Their names one by one read
//On the scrolls drunk to in Valhalla.
//Memorials float on the breeze
//Like the strains of Last Post
//Or the guitar strings snapping
//In search of long lost songs;
//And in these shadows cast
//By aching monoliths,
//Those who did not fall
//Remember only sorrow
//As bugles sound again.
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