Wednesday, June 10, 2009

The Aging Satyr to His Nymph

Listen! Can you hear me?
Strange that these flighty words
Have sound, have substance, sigh
Like a sad beast fleeing
The scene of a slaughter

She was powerless to prevent.
These words float above us
As if in comic books
Where we have super powers,
Never age, never lose, never

Forget each other’s special names,
And the villains are obvious,
Drawn all in garish sneers
And grasps toward ultimate power.
We’re real, love. And mute.

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