My Poetry Poetry

The Titan Was Brought Low

The Titan was brought low by a beast
so small and slow a grain sets it in shadow.
A long year he lay, first modest and afraid,
his massive arms and beautiful, terrifying hands
jutting out helpless beneath short sheets.
I looked long and unflinching into his eyes,
waiting for the burst of the dam, the warning
wail of the train riding the crest of the wave
and then the flood, and then the fire.
I might have cried at the old man, wrecked
and left stranded, burning at the bridge,
but nothing can be had from a wrung dry sponge.