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Hugo Martin Poem
When knowledge fades, the fables fill our halls:
So truth is mingled with a fancied bird
That candlelight outlines on homely walls.
What once was held as fact was slowly blurred,
And time and wit combined to mend its shred,
And stitch it clean to an embroidered past;
Each of our fathers took on him the thread,
To weave the raiment fair that it may last.
For naked truth is loathsome to the eye:
It needs the gaudy dye and glinting light,
Lest it be cast away as 'twere a lie.
Yet by such lies forgotten days grow bright,
For a clear sight of yesteryear is lost;
But glory ever came at shameful cost.
Copyright © Hugo Martin | Year Posted 2026
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Details |
Hugo Martin Poem
The needle-clock that pokes holes in the mind,
Whereby a pan of half-remembered past
Is sieved, and thus from memory confined,
Faileth against some fragments sticking fast.
The gripsack-brain is packed with brittle tinder,
For memories once lit do warm the soul.
Whenas old age shall dwindle blaze to cinder,
Though 'twill be hard to recollect them whole,
Being too truncated by the racing sword
Of time, so that they might even feel untrue,
We nonetheless will remain meet to ford
The dreamy stream of earlier days anew.
Though many memories will leave our sight,
Yet in the rearguard some won't take their flight.
Copyright © Hugo Martin | Year Posted 2026
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