Bonaparte Crossing the Alps
Surely, you are not thinking about how poorly This will all end one day. Does Elba even exist On an isolated trail through the Alps in May? Your mule already looks downtrodden. It moves. It’s alive. The icicles are silent. These boulders enjoy the company, I’m sure. Don’t let them push you around. Consider the gusts of wind A welcoming gesture, Kisses to your frosty cheeks. There are easier routes to lead 40,000 men Twisting, carrying heavy artillery. There are warmer waist-coats to hide A little corporal’s hand inside. But no one would dare question the young First Consul of the Republic. Hold on To your bicorn & march to the rising Drumrolls thundering along the difficult Descent, framing a labyrinthine Passage towards victory. Martial flutes soar up To that little bit of blue that peeks through A whitewashed sky. Perhaps a change of weather is in store, but today There is wind in the Alps, freezing Your afternoon gaze. Adam J. Gellings Adam J. Gellings is a poet from Columbus, Ohio. He received his MFA from Ashland University & currently lives in Vestal, New York.
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January 2021
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