The parodos is the opening act of a Greek tragedy…Need I say more?





Once Naus was real.

Now she is but a butterfly

drowned inside of me,

a poppy, snapped by the ploughshare

at the edge of the cornfield,

not yet fully blossomed,

still at the brink of

conquering the heavens,

still calculating her savage crusade,

as appropriate for her

young years,

deprived, happily, of dreams

that break up too soon.


And I, tied to the mast,

knew I was rocked

in her ever shifting fantasy,

hovering like a butterfly in disbelief

at the edge of regret

and grief.



Soundtrack: Tiny Tears (Tindersticks: ,,Tiny tears, pour out all over…Don’t pour them all over me.”

Dit bericht werd geplaatst in Poetry. Bookmark de permalink .

Geef een reactie

Vul je gegevens in of klik op een icoon om in te loggen. logo

Je reageert onder je account. Log uit /  Bijwerken )

Google+ photo

Je reageert onder je Google+ account. Log uit /  Bijwerken )


Je reageert onder je Twitter account. Log uit /  Bijwerken )

Facebook foto

Je reageert onder je Facebook account. Log uit /  Bijwerken )


Verbinden met %s