Oh, my brother Midas! How do you survive?
How do you quench the thirst? purge your curse?
Everywhere I go on my lone morning walks,
I see my people: lads and ladies, oh and how I dear them.
But brother, what I see are nakedness!
My vision penetrates their very garment!
As clear as the river Styx.
No robes on men, no dress on the women,
no chitons nor pretty stolas,
no chlamys nor red pallas.
What my women strive to conceal, I see.
What my men strive to conceal, I see.
And every time, my face will be painted red,
My breathing is those of gladiators'
And somewhere, something is rising,
And it's not my pride, brother.
Dear mighty Midas, bestow your hands
to my lips! oh, turn me
golden. Let your curse evict mine.
I rather die a statue, a reminder.
I rather die, than see!
All I seek is salvation
from this curse, this window to my soul.
From my vulgar blue mind; let no soul
bear this curse other than me.
YOU ARE READING
Thanatophobia
Poetry2 minutes. Stroll through this minefield of love, this treasury of 5 poems, in only two minutes. Then, I'll assure you, dear precious warriors, your time will not be in vain.
