What Gain Hath the Worker for His Toil?

[polaris93]

On the death of Richard M. Nixon
(Written on April 23, 1994, 1:50 am PDT, Seattle)

Something vast is passing by
In the night -
Something vast.
It drowned a nation in fire -
It walked upon the Moon.
It left men in ruin -
It opened up the sky.
Something vast is passing by -
Something vast:
40 years of history.
Two generations.
Something vast.
The king is dead:
Long live the king.
Whatever else we may be,
We are our history.
Kings are but the englamored segments
Of history’s long, cestodic body.
A king dies.
A king is crowned.
Men fought, bled, died.
Men dreamed, strove, reached for the stars.
Something vast is passing by -
Something vast.
Did you hate him?
Did you love him?
Remove your hat,
Bow your head,
Pay a moment of respect
To that vast thing passing by
In the night,
That dragon, history,
That is ourselves.
Something vast is passing by
In the night -
Something vast.
For good and bad men here and gone,
For good and bad years passing, passing -
He was us,
Hate him, love him.
We ourselves are passing in the night,
Passing by.
History weaves him
Into its impossibly complex tapestry.
He was us, and we, him.
He was all the births, lives, and deaths
Of the time he spanned.
Old worlds closed,
New worlds opened.
He was the time.
The king is dead.
Long live the future.
Say a prayer -
And ask not for whom the bell tolls:
It tolls for thee and me.