Terfunquit's Ballad

Legend is his species

Yet he sleeps for not being slayed

Deep below, below earthen dirt

Treaded on years after days

Sound a-sleeping and sound silent,

But vibrations have been felt

When he awakes the land will crumble, and off his shoulders it will melt

 

Whether one eyed or two

His fleshy brethren have fallen

To heroes whose names are often called

Whether be David! Thor! Odysseus! Or others hereafter

They will not be there, and to him they do not matter

 

For he has survived a millennium

And with the coming of the millennials he has evolved,

His body composed of rock, tree roots, and dust

Has been armored with concrete and metal a-rust.

Wires and pipes in his veins and foundations

He has been upgraded, and is ready to reboot from under the nation.

 

Instead of hand, club, or whetstone

He will wield a traffic sign as his axe,

Or a large billboard as his hammer,

Maybe something bigger or stronger.

Whatever reaches his hands

As he rises with the sands of time falling.

 

Buildings will be torn in half, and houses settled on his shoulders,

Cars falling off him along with the boulders.

His eyes once like deep vacant caverns

Will be enlightened with screens, technology, and fury,

As the area around him will be blurry,

Due to smoke and smog from his chimneys imbedded on his back.

 

He is the urban giant under Terfunquit’s name,

And after all the pollution and drilling,

He thinks it’s time some humans are slain.

Scars serve as his reminder where his trees have been chopped

To make room for another mall parking lot.

 

For now, he is resting

Under blankets of towns, cities, junkyards, and rumble

Waiting patiently to awake and put humanity in trouble

If they do not fix thier act and quit their disturbances,

He may not stay asleep long under their world of coal and oil furnaces.

 

 

This poem is about: 
Our world

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