The avenues have departed.
Long since has it been when mother
Last closed her music box.
In fact, I was but a boy of seven then;
Now, I’m a man haunted by a boy’s half-dream:
The Minotaur among the honeysuckle,
Under a Minoan summer sun soon to be
Honored with the blood of so many boys
Grown to soldiers.
For them, the avenues have departed;
There is no escape…
From Crete to Normandy and on to Basra-
The music box is only opened in a dead boy’s ears.
© 2013 Dennis Villelmi
Todays featured poem comes from Dennis Villelmi, a writer from Norton, VA. This piece seems to speak of a sense of discontent with life and personal history, of memory and personal identity. Taking it’s symbolic cues from mythological imagery, it weaves a tale both obtuse and mysterious in it’s telling. A complex, challenging work which is open to interpretation, Avenues really demands more than one reading to start to pick apart the layers within.
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