I gave away the bread at the table
And drank the wine instead.
I slaved away as the poet of the fable
And drained the river you fed
With your eyes, blue and green,
And distilled by ancient memories.
I turned away the peace of the rival
And sank our planned retreat.
I burned the treatise of the revival
And stained the musical beat
With my eyes, black and gray,
And poisoned by recent symmetries.
War wages, while sages grasp at straws
Indoors and amidst the crude feasts and failings.
In tiny cages, with beady eyes and fleshless cunning,
These same men battle nerve and powder
To bring a new level of peace.
"At what price?" asks the willing soldier.
At what price?
No comments:
Post a Comment