La Pieta of Jove

surrender

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our lights, where they shine on the bright and sparkling,

Also scheme to to be more than mere diamonds and gems.

When they reflect on the vanity of who we are, in the flesh,

It is not without a dare to be bold and a shattering of the glass.

That Alsop the barb, ate his meat without spices nor plates,

The cause that Bill today seeks to remedy with language.

Feisty when enraged, protective of the peaks of achievements,

Dwells the man in a night of untutored want, might unnamed.

Till Tillie, the scrubbing woman,soaked the mop of loving,

In the vinegar of dissatisfaction, and dispatched her vanity,

To the inside out recesses of Abrahm's mystical glories.

Cavernous in experience, to the sensual delight of mysteries,

The way Brahma blew his top, unraveled the bonds of creation.

In a new day, to the new way, of all human will and endeavors,

In the interests of the tantalizing panache that we strive to gather.

To sit at a table for meals, served in silver, with spoons to feed,

To the halls of the undead, where even death plays with masks.

Till the Colderon, the drone of empathy rises from its slumber,

Seeks the child, the one of the mountains, now in the nests,

With sights from before, now the insight of its wondrous jests.

Turns rivers into the sultriness of the feminine, tempting swifts,

Even Herod of the Mediterranean, stirs from lethargy to aplomb,

As the Celt rises to reveal the flame's vision of endearment,

There stands delicate Jove, the future's form of the life perfect.

Reviews

[Sagar Waingankar]

Is it a start or the present? It actually make me confused ... probably I'm not much into the mystical world of mythologies!