This is just the epic I recite—
another lie dressed up in light,
one smooth line at a time,
dripping honey, sweet with rhyme.
In the hope it might conceal
every raw wound I still feel,
tucked beneath each crafted line,
woven threads in a grand design.
More than merely invention,
but less than benediction,
I chant these sacred, hollow words—
ignored by slow, prosaic herds.
For no matter the true reason,
I scorn each sentimental season—
with its feeble urge to inspire
my burnt-out, ancestral pyre.
Since all that’s truly ever seen
is the glow of a faint blue screen—
a whole world within their hand,
even though they do not understand.
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Author:
Libellule (
Offline) - Published: April 18th, 2025 04:29
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
- Users favorite of this poem: Muse of Calliope
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Comments3
So many entranced by the screen few read anymore and poetry less still. How much is lost in the lazy dust of technology and its mindless hypnotic fast food poison of additives for flavor. So well constructed and rhymed with good meter the meaning hidden in metaphor. Nicely done
thoroughly enjoyed
Great write
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