Remember how I said I wasn’t writing a Homerian epic?
I’m still not. Don’t get your hopes up. I am, however, writing a small segment from the middle of one, inspired by my youngest helping me safely trek home from her preschool.
Land of Foes, Land of Woes (an exerpt)
The land through which we trekked grew bare
And vegetation died.
No creature ventured, none would dare,
But far away did hide.
All grew acrid, even air
Burned the lungs inside.
We wore our masks of cloth spell-bound
To let us breathe aright;
For many miles, the only sound
Our footsteps through the night
Scraping on the stony ground
Through ash and sullen blight.
At last we reached an unknown shore
Where lapped no water pure,
But molten rock did make the floor
And promised a death sure.
We must cross to reach the door
Of the fortress dour.
Prepared we were for this great task,
Our mighty boat to hand,
And so we pulled the token black
And set it on black land,
The magic incantation asked
And two steps back did stand.
The token curled then jumped then sank
Then grew like curling vine
Until at last upon the bank
Sat ship, sturdy and fine;
Our mighty sorceress we thank
For her magic design.
Upon the deck we quickly got
And pushed with poles of wood
Yet not like wood they pushed our lot
But showed a hardihood;
Though magma did surround our yacht,
It unscorched all withstood.
The surface of the lake red glowed
As we poled through it all;
No hint of farther shore it showed
But evermore did sprawl
Our poles plopped on as on we flowed
Unbowed and standing tall.
Until at last a shudder came
And rocked us stem to stern;
The shore beyond seemed the self-same
But we knew progress earned.
This wild trip could no spirits tame,
For victory we yearned!
Intellectual Property of Elizabeth Doman
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