Anathemas Are Never Pronounced Against Mount Sinai
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
Those things that cannot bring themselves to move
Are what the prophets tend in silence. Stones
Are what the prophecies do not the reprove,
The stones beneath the river’s flow. Gold thrones,
Though heavy, do not shift. The kings are shot
But thrones hold on. The kings are what are blamed
By Jeremiahs. Kings are like the clot
That kills. The dooms the prophets have proclaimed
Do not touch mesas. Himalaya peaks
Are never cursed by seers. They refrain
From damning Barringers, preferring sleek
