renshai

Really bad poetry time!

i was looking for a cable in my basement, when I found this poem I had written 20 years ago. I guess you could say I was little depressed at the time.

The Dove

I am Prometheus
only it is not my liver
that is torn from my body
daily, it is my heart
Eagles do not feed
upon my flesh.
it is a dove. a bird
of beauty unrivaled
and graceful form. Each day
I await her coming, I yearn
to hear her sweet song,
to see her gentle wings.
Yet I know all it will cause
is pain, unmatched and eternal.
This bird of peace on love
knows what she does
and it causes her great sorrow.
But she does what she
must to retain her sanity.
As my bloody carcass hangs
manacled to the wall of despair
I know all of this to be true
and I weep for her anguish.
This knowledge is the salt
in my wounds, and everyday
more of my life blood
drains away. Soon I shall
have none left to bleed.
I am not a god, therefore
I shall die, but the pain,
the pain shall linger on.

Yikes! That is a bit dark. But I guess everyone is entitled to write one self pitying poem.