A Poem by Zach Fechter

Horns In The Valley

There are horns in the valley,

Jazz tumbling over the edge

Like ice water,

Clean voices echo in the trees,

An age of light and sun, endless,

And whose soft face is there?

If there was a man here

Alone in the mist,

Beating the drum of solitude,

I would wish to join him.

Opening upward the gaze

Of men upon fields

Meaning youth,

Wishing for remembrance,

Statues to remind masses

Of the eternal crying out,

To remain young!

Old and wrecked rubble,

Scattered remains of a

Long dead poem,

The valley’s grass having

Swallowed it up long ago

As children now climb and stub their toes

On the retired colossus.

And through the tears

A blurry vision:

Humanity in her struggle

Limping across blank verse

To open our eyes

And cry upon the valley…

 

Zach Fechter lives in Southern California and has been published in multiple editions of Poetry Quarterly. He studied accounting at Roanoke College in Salem, Virginia. He is 24 years old.