sangha
01-22-2010, 05:41 PM
It sprang from applying the Prometheus mythology to Johnny Cash's Ring of Fire
=D. Enjoy...hopefully.
fine promethean hands
jettison out from his sternum,
backed with excellent posture though they be,
they are the jetsam of his
eroded dignity
hunched (in excellent posture)
the man's thoughts sail across
his tired, hollow home
hollow because he lied...
to his wife, but not with her
Cry Mercy! And let loose the dogs of --
heartache drips, a candle over
the fire he stole from his beloved (la bella dame sans merci)
and spent upon mortal lust.
it burns at him, leaving nothing but
seared flesh, stark and acute, assuaged only by
godsend - a liver-devouring bottle of Kentucky Eagle Rare...
He'll sleep soon, and wake soon, and beg soon,
on the side of his cardboard manor,
chained to the dying ember of his memories,
for a quarter so that he might blow a breath of life
onto that dying ember...like a man in an arctic telephone booth
but now, for now, he has only his cardboard memories,
his obligation to mortal lust,and a rotten liver.
He raises his head in a pious jerk:
"i am not" - but he is.
him, the forsaken, him wielding hands promethean.
=D. Enjoy...hopefully.
fine promethean hands
jettison out from his sternum,
backed with excellent posture though they be,
they are the jetsam of his
eroded dignity
hunched (in excellent posture)
the man's thoughts sail across
his tired, hollow home
hollow because he lied...
to his wife, but not with her
Cry Mercy! And let loose the dogs of --
heartache drips, a candle over
the fire he stole from his beloved (la bella dame sans merci)
and spent upon mortal lust.
it burns at him, leaving nothing but
seared flesh, stark and acute, assuaged only by
godsend - a liver-devouring bottle of Kentucky Eagle Rare...
He'll sleep soon, and wake soon, and beg soon,
on the side of his cardboard manor,
chained to the dying ember of his memories,
for a quarter so that he might blow a breath of life
onto that dying ember...like a man in an arctic telephone booth
but now, for now, he has only his cardboard memories,
his obligation to mortal lust,and a rotten liver.
He raises his head in a pious jerk:
"i am not" - but he is.
him, the forsaken, him wielding hands promethean.