Blood Brother He of the Ways who traveled light, Quixote, cap-a-pie in schemes, That spoofer of his peers who rode With us into our candied dreams; He of the Ways, our look-out squire, The anxious one who whistled from The woods of wivern, gnome and faun, To warn us, boulder-teared and numb With fear; the moonlit one whom sun Could not unskill, but our dare did; Who died beneath the wheels of fate As Clotho trampled him to rid Him of excess (as true gods will)-- He waits, respectable, on stairs And pleads connection with our hearts, We who have not yet paid our fares. (c) 11-23-96 Charles Sielert sielertc@aol.comBirth sign: Not entered
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Charles Sielert / Libra.