Reading Old Words

A poem about Plato.

Plato in the soft light

of a blue-shaded lamp.

Ancient words.

Thoughts transcribed

to be printed on 70s era paper.

How quaint.

The sight,

The smell,

The feel.

How things have changed,

and how they have not.

My shadow stretches out before me

like a lazy cat,

reminiscent of the cave,

and its shadow players for captive men.

The knowledge he could not escape,

the call of light and the death of shadows.

Thoughts that sear the mind

and the eyes.

The story of truths

and the story of lies.

Inseparable.

Irreparable.

Blended softly together

like oil paint on a canvas.

Until the edges are lost.

And the only truth that remains

is Plato in the soft light

of a blue-shaded lamp.

Read more by Jesse here.

Tags