I found this poem on my computer. I don’t remember when I wrote it, but it was last edited in April. It still needs a lot of work, but the capital C holds a certain resonance for me.
Uncertain Age
I see them.
In an uncertain age,
they are Certain.
They are the ones to fear.
False prophets
Leading you through lands uncharted
Pretending they have a map
I think I want to be one of them.
The part of the poem that really intrigues me is the last line. What would compel me to write that? The last line feels out of place now, but I wonder if the poem hinged on that last line originally. Aside from the last line, it partly captures a feeling I feel more strongly now, particularly, “They are the ones to fear.”
Prophecy, or even the very inclination towards it, is a potent thing… so it doesn’t surprise me that you indicated a desire, perhaps latent, “to be one of them.”
I’m not sure as to how you meant “age” in the title and poem, but in one sense I respond this way: I’d be more trusting of old prophets who speak in undertones of doubt and questioning, rather than young ones who reek of certainty. The latter do not have the experience and wisdom of having lived through things yet, to guide them.
As to old prophets who exude certainty… well, there are some, like the ones in the Old Testament, in whom one may put faith. But the time to withdraw such faith is also clear: it’s when they finally claim for themselves the very words of the Divine. At that point, one’s innate skepticism needs to rule.
Intriguing poem.