Resistance Poetry 2020.12
The End
In F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, the disembodied eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckleburg preside, unblinking, over a landscape of smoking industrial ash, byproduct of an uninhibited pursuit of wealth.
Are we living in that wasteland with a cardboard god casting his ineffectual judgement over our selfish pursuits? I don’t know. But it can sure feel like it when I’m in the right mood.
They say hindsight is 20/20, and the past year has certainly given us plenty to learn from if we are willing. But are we?
Is this the end? Is this the beginning? Is it both?
Though I hope for door number three, I stand with Jeffrey Field who, in his apocalyptic poem below, writes:
I shall be like the Norsemen of old.
I shall fight the fate this angry god has
placed upon the world.
I shall fight knowing
my cause is lost.
Not for fame,
not for glory,
not for accolades.
Because that is who I am.
Follow the Horse. A Confession | by Jeffrey Field | Resistance Poetry | Dec, 2020 | Medium
P.S. — This is the last monthly collection of Resistance Poetry. Poems will continue to be posted, but the monthly recap will cease. Write on.
