Jeffrey Hull

The Gates of Cerdes

The gates of ancient Cerdes
   Reach up to clutch the sky
And grind the clouds to snowflakes
   As sadly they drift by.

Tall spires once flew banners
   Long since to tatters blown —
Grand brazen doors, once gleaming,
   With brambles overgrown.

The city walls lie crumbled,
   And here and there a mound
Of tipped and tumbled stonework
   Where buildings once were found.

Wind-whispered soft enticements
   Heard faint across the dell
Bid tarry for the story
   Of how great Cerdes fell;

But travellers listen vainly
   To almost hear the tale
Now lost to recollection
   As snow tucks in the vale.


© 2005 Jeffrey Hull

A "life is futile" poem (a common theme), commenting on the inevitable end of all grand designs, both of civilizations, and of individuals. It is also simply a poem which evokes an image - tumbled ruins, being blanketed in snow (winter, coldness, depression). Cerdes, the name of the mythical place, is from the Procol Harum song, Outside the Gates of Cerdes; in fact, one can sing this piece to that music (but that would be taking things a bit far).