. . . a mighty voice was heard across the waters, crying :  
“The great Pan is dead.” 

Our dances through the groves–
piping, yearning, song–
what did we do wrong?

Our world is gone–
wasted by tiny men
with tiny minds.

History, memory,
poems like green leaves,
hacked by little hatchets,
neglected, burned, crumbled, lost–
O lost!

Music of Earth and ages
drowned out by tinny shrieks
of the rigid and the ignorant,
the pious, stupid–alas!–
the politic, afraid.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.