Two doomed cities and the warning:
“Don’t look back!”
Yet there on the mountain stands a figure, shocked and still:
Half-profile, hard as rock-salt.
Face and fingers crumbling … Lava-washed:
Lot’s wife who looked …
Heiress to Eve’s rebellious curiosity:
“Ye shall not surely die … your eyes shall be opened,
And ye shall be as gods … ” the serpent whispered …
Aphrodite and Apollo pose silently in marble:
Crumbling antiquity with ne’er a wrinkle of age;
A moon-lit blush on the cheek: almost alive …
The magician flourishes his cape:
Good becomes evil, and evil seems good;
The applause is deafening.
Deep within Loch Ness, Leviathan lurks,
Like a raging lion locked in it’s lair:
His ragged wings can soar no more;
His murky maze of lies no more ensnare.
‘Twas not the sword of mythical St. George,
Nor did Saint Patty “kill-a my snakes for me.”*
T’was this plain and simple fact of dragon-lore:
More tempting the abyss as I stare more …