What could be sillier than
a man bound to a bed of flowers
at his own request
so he could indulge
his love of the moon!

Such a “love” is effete,
incredibly self-absorbed,
akin to studying the
Christmas Catalogue
with hope in one’s heart.

Can the edges of life
be so buffed away, so polished
that they no longer wound?
Can life be so softened, so
insulated that it leaves no bruises?

Try living without anything
for a few minutes
for a few hours
for a few days
for a few lifetimes

And then look at the moon:
it will not have changed.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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4 Responses to Endymion

  1. drew says:

    wow. wow. wow. this is totally amazing and definitely my fav of yours. I’d appreciate it if you took a look at one of my newly posted poems and tell me whatcha think.

  2. drew says:

    scratch that, you already did.

  3. drew says:

    I actually understood the underlying message this time around. So much more beautiful was the message.

  4. riverwriter says:

    Thanks, Drew. Most times I look at the full moon, I think of John Lyly’s play. There is a stunning encounter waiting for anyone in the very existence of that amazing orb, which is so prominent in literature.

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