A poet spoke
And we were told
“The center,” he said,
Cannot hold
He showed a world
Beset by woe
In words
100 years ago
The best are cowed and frighted
The worst are full of rage
Could this be a signal
For the last and final age
But there was hope
Expressed in ways
As I, for you, now
Paraphrase
The echoes of the first great war
Were still in spirits drumming
Did anarchy and ignorance
Demand a Second Coming
What would that Second Coming bring
When loosed upon creation
The splendor of forgiveness
Or the horrors of damnation
He didn’t give it a meaning
He didn’t give it a name
But seemed to say we must accept
Whatever future came
A century has come and gone
And he might be elated
We missed the demolition
That he anticipated
A thousand innovations
And many years of thinking
Saved us from the whirlpool
In which he saw us sinking
Despite a worldwide battle
We moved ahead undaunted
To bring forth an existence
That men and women wanted
Today, is there a hero
A poet or inventor
To light imagination
And somehow save the center