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Abstract

my fountain of youth, they gurgled as babes.I was created.I had other plans.And they were recreated.Chapter 3The Republic And The CaveCivic virtue, the common thread in a civic society.Civic duty, civic responsibility, civic engagement.Civic disobedience, civic strife, civil blood, distort the images, painted crimson by a common foe.I have read the writing in the cave.C-I-V-I-C, CIV-IC, CIVIC!I’m making plans.Order in this court, I have entered the premises!, civilly.Chapter 3The Talent Of The Gilded WordDo lilies not toil in the field?If so, it explains why it did not gild its bouquet.Do the Lilies toil less then the roses in the hedges?Is the hedge more fertile than the field?The rose infamous, a thorn in my bosom, yet I bow to inhale its scent, why?<

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p id="a1d8">The lily emerges pure from the mire, yet, we defrock it only to adorn it for its shame.Was it not, already pure?We gild the lily, to humble Solomon, yet the rose still smells sweeter…Do lilies emit a mephitic plumage?If dipped in gold leaf, would a word have a scent?No, but perhaps I can write a scent for it.One word gilds a eulogy,The rose is sweet, the lily eulogized.A sweet eulogy, perchance?The talent of the gilded word, is the essence, the question beneath its veneer.Answers are a dime a dozen, choose your bloom, worthless but for the overlooked mark — ? — placed at the end of a sentence, that makes it glitter.If that is not so, what are we all doing here, but braiding maypoles as we await our turn to push up the dasies.I have other plans — questions.Copyright ©. <a href="">R Tsambounieri Talarantas</a>. May 2020. All Rights Reserved.</article></body>

Chapters

In No Particular Order

Chapter 2

Genesis

I should not have been born, and yet the cosmos in its ever expanding hubris mocked my aging progenitors.

Had I not known my parents unwavering fidelity, I’d have believed the myth that I was found on the grounds of the citadel overlooking my village.

I limp on my fathers hip, his thigh my staff.

My mothers ebony tresses my wailing wall.

I should not have been born, it went against the natural order of the universe but it was done, so be it.

My parents, took the bull by its horns and grew young with my sudden appearance, drinking from my fountain of youth, they gurgled as babes.

I was created.

I had other plans.

And they were recreated.

Chapter 3

The Republic And The Cave

Civic virtue, the common thread in a civic society.

Civic duty, civic responsibility, civic engagement.

Civic disobedience, civic strife, civil blood, distort the images, painted crimson by a common foe.

I have read the writing in the cave.

C-I-V-I-C, CIV-IC, CIVIC!

I’m making plans.

Order in this court, I have entered the premises!, civilly.

Chapter 3

The Talent Of The Gilded Word

Do lilies not toil in the field?

If so, it explains why it did not gild its bouquet.

Do the Lilies toil less then the roses in the hedges?

Is the hedge more fertile than the field?

The rose infamous, a thorn in my bosom, yet I bow to inhale its scent, why?

The lily emerges pure from the mire, yet, we defrock it only to adorn it for its shame.

Was it not, already pure?

We gild the lily, to humble Solomon, yet the rose still smells sweeter…

Do lilies emit a mephitic plumage?

If dipped in gold leaf, would a word have a scent?

No, but perhaps I can write a scent for it.

One word gilds a eulogy,

The rose is sweet, the lily eulogized.

A sweet eulogy, perchance?

The talent of the gilded word, is the essence, the question beneath its veneer.

Answers are a dime a dozen, choose your bloom, worthless but for the overlooked mark — ? — placed at the end of a sentence, that makes it glitter.

If that is not so, what are we all doing here, but braiding maypoles as we await our turn to push up the dasies.

I have other plans — questions.