He could never shake
from his shoulders the mantle
of his town-dwelling merchant ancestors,
their craven subservience before the country
lords. A creator of splendour, he couldn't grasp
that what he wrought outshone the looted
silver from which he ate in the dining rooms
of their rural mansions. Condemned to being
a giant standing among the gold-hoarding
dwarfs, in their decaying halls, believing
their diminutive forms were towering
above his wretchedly loyal self.
27.02.2023
#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse
Ei kommentteja:
Lähetä kommentti