The Satyr

This the second in a series of poems that number three.

In a dream he came to me,

First as a monkey in a tree

Then as a passive pleading priest.

And then as a hungry wilderbeast!

This silly satyr laughs and sings,

He turnes into an array of things.

A child with a face so fair,

A crippled man, beyond repair.

Understanding wrong from right

Up from down, dayfrom night

In changing form and taking shape

This first man came from the ape.

Is this Adam my love, my life

As I am she Eve his wife?

 

       An original compasition by: Margaret Barton-Wahl

Reviews

[Michael X]

This well written poem is whimsically lyrical, has limerick quality, sense of fun,
Margaret, you penned this with colorful metaphor and flowing creativness.
I particularly enjoyed the imagery and flow, thanks for sharing your talent.

[Brett Campaigne]

At first i fancied this a very descriptive poem, sort of divulging the character of a stereotypical satyr. Though reading on I realized how you were using this archetype, especially in the parallel to Adam. A man is someone who will put on many faces for you, but you know the vulnerability beneath, and that the fundamental man is a mask.