Sunday, July 08, 2012


We are unchanged: resplendent in our cloaks
With opals, emeralds, and silver thread
In honour of the dying and the dead,
We stand as solid as the stately oaks,
As bright as two or three Matisse brush strokes
(Has yellow orange overwhelmed the red?),
As clever as those witty things we said
Before we chose loud bangs and toilet jokes.

Such things have caused us to become estranged,
When someone said that we were arrivistes
And called for absolution from the priests
Before we could deter them. They arranged
To call us worse: they claimed we were unchanged:
Resplendent, bright, and witty, but still beasts.