neonman
2011-11-09 04:50:35 UTC
Echo the Nymph
De affodil, a bud awakening
on this fine Earth a bloom in glory’s vein
awaiting eyes to feast upon it’s strain
as words of praise envelope it’s being.
In centered world, this bloom unfolds its wings
to welcome those whose love has no refrain
to feed, to grow or it will be in vain
and never sung will be its song of spring.
The song of mirrored echoes singing praise
to feed an ego growing strong unchecked.
Elite the one who seeks the mirror ways
in everything a quest to be correct
though tears may fall from those unfit he plays,
a flowered beauty towering— suspect.
Myopic mirror shows a view askew
but not to one whose eyes caress his own,
who sits on his invisible life’s throne
oblivious to all who grovel too.
To gain reward from him though so untrue
for he cares not nor needs their love be shown.
He is flowering tall and so alone
while worshiping his vanity pursued.
A selfish one who does not know nor cares
to flower while it takes the food of those
who care and love the radiance he bears.
He sucks their essence dry-- they’re but his foes
to shed when done as weeds to pull he pares.
And soon his age sees summer’s roses pose
To feast he ever hunts, the game a thrill
uncaring mien they are but toys to play.
A shattered trail of spent and used he splays.
His world the lonely flower— daffodil.
So perfect he, the mirror speaks his will
a wash of glaze…. reality at bay.
He thinks his world will last-- an endless day
narcissus bloom his bloom but wait until,
until the fade of life sets in to claim
a wilting man with wrinkled mirror view.
Though still the loves he needs to age he blames
when they do not appear to help on cue
and he is left to die alone with shame
with wrinkled mirror his only…. adieu.