Journey to Ixtlan

A poetry challenge asked for a poem focusing on the final thoughts of someone who died in Pompeii. I took this on with a poem about a fateful birthday, the last for the inhabitant of the doomed town.


Last Celebration

Celebration hung in the air
perhaps the last for this one
replaced by ash drifting down
from sky's embrace of fiery doom
the sun had turned round again
in same place as my birth
now hidden behind the gloom
lost from sight by mountain plumes.

It seemed the gods had shown their grace
in comfort felt and wealth embraced
with incense offered in glad thanks
for blessings found until this day
now the soot mocks twisting pleas
from same incense pressed to ask
for the mercies none shall have
as benefits are turned to dust.

In this house I was born
cloistered rooms kept me warm
mighty walls to keep the wolf
at bay when moon was on the hook
no longer cover for the child
grown to nearly move along
to a place beyond safeguards
instead the ground will be my home.

The cheers are mute as ground rumbles
robbed from ear by blasting noise
happy wishes have fled from voice
to be replaced by mountain's roar
these last sounds were my world
as light retreated in front of fire
by lava's march to party's stop
this birthday party will be my last.

2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20161123.