04-24-2011, 01:40 PM
"For with my own eyes I saw the Sibyl hanging in a jar at Cumae, and when the boys said to her, 'Sibyl, what do you want?' she replied, 'I want to die.'" - Gaius Petronius Arbiter (27 - 66 AD), from his Satyricon
perhaps I am old on the inside. I haven't seen much,
no wars or revolutions, but when flowers bloom again,
the snow dissolving, making way, and days grow longer
like a volume increase, I dare to believe I've had my fill.
the roundabout ceaselessy spinning, pushed by hands
I cannot see, so all that exists beyond the ride's edge
is a multicoloured blur; when I write these poems
I feel like my brother whining about his dinner,
the sweet chicken curry our father made,
poking at it with a fork and believing he's suffered enough.
I strain against a jar of sorts,
but then so does everyone else.
perhaps I am old on the inside. I haven't seen much,
no wars or revolutions, but when flowers bloom again,
the snow dissolving, making way, and days grow longer
like a volume increase, I dare to believe I've had my fill.
the roundabout ceaselessy spinning, pushed by hands
I cannot see, so all that exists beyond the ride's edge
is a multicoloured blur; when I write these poems
I feel like my brother whining about his dinner,
the sweet chicken curry our father made,
poking at it with a fork and believing he's suffered enough.
I strain against a jar of sorts,
but then so does everyone else.
"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