A poem again that was written in the depth of winter at HMP Highpoint South. It concerns the elements, as in the title, but in the classical sense of the expression. Nothing complicated about the ideas, but some of the language probably requires a little reflection.
Elements
The essence of existence, the ultimate purifier
Within which swim the swift and slow
Ever moving from the high to low
Whose drought delivers deep desire
The sailor’s surface, the fireman’s friend
That douses enemy embers’ glow
That feeds us till our mortal end
And at life’s limit, when spark has flown
Solid in which we all must trust
Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust
Wherein our vegetation’s grown
Leggėd creatures on trough and peak
They stand; or lie beneath its crust
The grit of which all humans speak
Their speech expels of life the breath
The return is that which we inhale
Life’s rhythm pumps it without fail
Its absence certain sudden death
Within it fly the feathered, fast
Energy given to the yachtsman’s sail
Weather blown from places passed
The giver of our heat and light
Transforms the mighty molecule
Which shaped the sword, and tempered tool
We crowd together round its seat
Protected from the prowling beast
And kept away the ghastly ghoul
Transforming food into a feast
The ancients named four elements
The moderns give a different name
And play an academic game
Seeking sounder scientific sense
Upon which we wish to base our acts
Our elders thought they did the same
Philosophers famed for their faultless facts!