Essentially, we live in a peaceful world. There is no longer the threat of all-out war, whatever MSM says. Mankind is on the eve of a new era. Hereby a poem that catches the gist of this.
It was an early morning in September, 2010. I was out on a bike ride in my beautiful town, Härnösand.
It was fairly warm. The air was moist, the effect of a rain the night before. "The wild and windy night / that the rain washed away / has left a pool of tears / crying for the day"... as Macca had it in "The Long and Winding Road".
The sun had risen, but from my point of view it was concealed behind a mountain on my right. And in front of me I had an old regimental barrack, a yellow "kasern" as we say in Sweden, resplendent like a castle with the front catching the sun rays.
On my left a brook ran, carrying rather a lot of water; it had been raining as I said. I was in an area of detached houses, a villa region in the near-city zone, and to have an open brook running through the scenery was a quaint eyecatcher: they hadn't led it through ducts and covered it with soil. No, freshly running water, murmuring in the early morning sun...!
In front of me was the palatial kasern, presiding on a small shelf in the hillside, surrounded by emerald green lawns and flanked by maples. And in my mind I transformed it into a watering place, a place to quench your spiritual thirst. And along with some other reflections on the times, it all evolved into this poem. Note the Macca-reference in line #1...! By the way, the rest of the lines are also made up of quotes/titles. I won't tell you which ones though. Not today.
Now for the poem:
I'm in love with her and I feel fine --
living in this Midsummer Century --
praying at The Watering Place of Good Peace --
under The New Improved Sun.
I could comment a lot on this. Now I only say: since after November 11, 2011, earth lives on a higher, spiritual level, for example resulting in the impossibility in an all-out war, such as "total Middle Eastern War" or "war between Nato and Russia over Ukraine".
It just won't happen. And I sensed it, vaguely, already in 2010, writing this poem.
Caza: The Ark
Details (flash fiction)
Coleridge's The Rime
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