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.
The ironic part is that Plato famously hated poets.
Nice work! I enjoyed it.
Posted By: Cid
Beautiful work as always, Jesse. I love your poems.
Posted By: RedXIII