Pylon Dream

Tall, stiff, unyielding -

The metal form stood like a beast of function.

Stood watching the horizon

For the thing that threatened.

Its four legs, proudly apart, sunk deep in earth,

Held it strong for the coming climax.

It waited, and it waited,

For that coming something.

Other pylons, alone, superior,

Stood hard and strong in the far distance -

Like lookouts for the Apocalypse.

Nothing could have stirred them.

Too tall and solid for that.

They saw above the trees

And far into a future,

Which only they could know.

As we stood beneath,

We listened to the eerie hum

Of the electric in its veins,

And the sad wind in the buzzing wire.

Power was the game they played.

We looked up, necks twisted,

And swooned into the sky.

Clouds touched its head as crows flew by -

Indifferent to the power of the Metallic Thing.

How small we were -

Stood like spiders to men - ready to be stamped upon...

But then... with a flick of wire and a metallic crash,

It came alive.

The wires hummed harder

And its electric blood swirled and pumped

To all extremities...

To fortify the frame.

To give it the gift of electric life.