Poetry: The Sundial

The Sundial

Here in the garden is a sundial,

Stone and cold,

It hasn't moved for fifty years.

I see the old men inside.

They stand on chairs

And raise their glasses high

And yell out,

“Here’s to the good old days!

They won’t come back again.”

Here in the garden is a sundial,

The shadow moves around the sun

But always returns to the same place.

I see their children,

Almost grown,

Outside. And they exclaim,

“The problems my father caused

Are in the past.

We can change and rebuild,

Build a better world than

There was before.”

But here in the garden is a sundial

And when the night comes

It loses its purpose

And falls asleep

To wait another day.

I see the turn of history

On my eyelid backs,

All gears and hearts.

The beginning,

The middle,

The eventual end.

Millions of old men standing on chairs

Millions of children, almost grown, exclaiming,

“We are different from all of time.”

But many gears, hearts, voices later,

Here in the garden is a sundial.

The direction of its shadow has changed,

But it has not and will not

For it is only a sundial

And cannot turn on its own.

Author's Notes: While I hate writing for a grade, I have to admit there's nothing like the pressure of a deadline as a way to get creative juices flowing (as gross as that sounds). The professor talked about including symbolism in poems and identifying a problem in society through poetry. I experimented with some imagery and symbolism here, as well as including dialogue in poetry. I'm pretty happy with this poem, even though it was too long to submit for the assignment.