He stands at the podium expressionless
Like a hollow wooden horse.
After seven years, the storm of reporters
Fails to disrupt his intended course.
He stares into the Cycloptic lenses
And sings the virtues of his name,
Dismissing his supporting cast
For they can crash into the rocks.
He always washes ashore unscathed.
Someday, the suitors will move on
And they’ll desecrate his image
Outside the gates that privileged his entry—
His story lessened in crumbled stone.
3 comments:
I wrote a poem a long time ago called "Odysseus's Pride." The poem mixed a bit of mythology with contemporary images like yours. However, that's where the similarities end. Yours puts mine to shame. I love the "Cycloptic lenses," and the reference to the siren's call.
Come next year's finals, I presume you'll be cheering for a threepeat if the Lakers and Heat square off?
Edward, I would root for the Lakers being the lesser of two evils, but it's moot point because it'll be the Clippers instead. ;D
I like that it's worded like a cautionary tale. Lebron, tonight you will be visited by 3 ghosts.
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