Canto CCLXII

Am I alone in seeing something else
when Royal dignitaries and sporty types
fly over with a borrowed flame from Greece?

The birthplace of those great cognitive leaps,
democracy, the natural sciences,
the mask that grins aside the mask that weeps

and soon perhaps the human synthesis
to put an end to the undead  shuffle,
the slow, corrosive, meaningless morass,

the self propelling dance of Capital?
I see the children of Prometheus,
a procession of Molotov Cocktails,

repaying deficits to Olympus.

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    May 19, 2012 @ 23:56:34

    The Isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece !
    Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
    Where grew the arts of War and Peace,
    Where Delos rose, and Phœbus sprung !
    Eternal summer gilds them yet,
    But all, except their Sun, is set.

    Reply

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