Poet?
No, just an old fashioned hypocrite
Crito, we owe a cock to Asclepius
Let him have it then !
Acta est fabula, plaudite, plaudite…
But what’s the point?
He waited, so did she
Who there chants in my ears?
Believe in epitaphs?
Don’t turn the lights off, please!
Sad memories of childhood?
No, just a façade to hide behind
Any unfulfilled ambitions?
Next question please
Sighs? Tears?
By Jove, what are those things?
You seem to be drowning, old pal
No, no, just escaping the mirrors
Shall there be no faces to smile at?
That’s entirely upto you
And who shall join the procession?
None, except my own mocking selves
Any last wishes?
Here lies a presumptuous fly
trapped in amber for five
thousand years, pretending
to be alive
Set it free…set it free...
3 comments:
You make me laugh.
'pretendiing to be alive'.....!
Like Narkissos survived among the Oxyrhynchus papyri
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