11-04-2010, 09:10 AM
A strange and beautiful poem which toys with the idea of sadomasochism, and the motives behind this magical craft. This was my favourite stanza:
Old pleasure is a faded stage
bouquet of plastic flowers,
a dehydrated dove.
Without risk, it is unsatisfying.
Remember,
magic is misdirection.
The metaphors here are perfect. Simple as.
Old pleasure is a faded stage
bouquet of plastic flowers,
a dehydrated dove.
Without risk, it is unsatisfying.
Remember,
magic is misdirection.
The metaphors here are perfect. Simple as.
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe