THE NEW PROMETHEUSES
Dreadful times,
the living with parts of others.
Living dead, the living stealing.
Dead who bury the living.
Far from divine mandates,
fear of dying, living without end,
life at any price.
Made of scraps of others,
they live in patches,
borrowed life.
Dread of life,
in evil,
times
to die.
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In loving memory of JULIA GRANDE GONZALEZ. We pray for her soul and hope she rests in peace
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Author:
Carlos Alberto BUSTILLOS (
Offline) - Published: January 24th, 2026 11:32
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
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Comments1
A most interesting choice in title so closely related to Mary Shelly's title. This poem is a patchwork and piecing so nicely worked a fave
The original poem is the one in the link: https://www.poemas-del-alma.com/blog/mostrar-poema-810400. . I wanted to dedicate that poem to little Julia, whom I only saw twice—once when she was detained by the police, and another time at the courthouse, where we were supposed to have the hearing. And now we’ve learned that the poor girl has died. A life that barely lasted twenty-something years, destroyed by drugs, by fentanyl, and by sheer bad luck. Poor thing… at least she won’t suffer anymore. What a tragic life. I didn’t want her to pass through this world without anyone remembering her. Her death, and the misery she endured in life, sadden me deeply.
Thank you for commenting.
A most sad story and you are very welcome Carlos
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