Narcissus did not die in his pool,
He devoured the water in all its grandeur
And he disappeared into the new-found madness.
Sorrows linger in the ivy's nostrils
Where Chronos' hunger is sated,
And we quiver in our own joys.
Society's whims are the god's folly:
Laugh little whimsical nymphs
We are the show with the mortal audience.
The mourning sea erects Neptune's tomb:
Where we rule is where we die,
And the sparrows hide their elegies.
Lydia is as warm as the good winds,
She whispers to the summer worshippers
"Your freedom is my pleasure."
Hands are severed
When they reach for time's caress.
The hours are false; turnstiles of sorrow.
They do not remember Calypso.
A contest entry
- Prewrites But NO "fresh" writes by ecrivain01.
450 points, ended June 6, 2008, 77 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
I must say ...
that I like this a lot. It's far too early to know if it will have a chance at a trophy, but I like it.
Thanks for entering.
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