Monday, January 7, 2008
I thought to myself... what if the Fountain of Youth's name didn't correspond to the affects of those who drink it, but to it's own present state? That's what influenced me to write this poem.
Fountain of Old
The fountain of youth isn't young anymore
The piping is clogged, the water won't pour
It's crumbled and cracking, more dead than divine
It's rusty and dusty and garnished in grime
It's dingy and dirty, decrepit and dried
The fountain's been flushed out, has faltered, is fried
And if an aged searcher drinks the few drops left older...
The poor aging soul would grow
Much, much older
Labels: poetry
9:08 PM
Profile
Blog
Tagboard
Links