Ape House

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  • Sadness

    Ape House

    A silver-backed sage and I exchange telepathy
    through a tinted pane, insulating our spheres.
    With primal sagacity amber eyes glare at me
    in tiny pupil twitches, as if my mind he hears.
    Multi-millennia ago he might have been my sire,
    and I, a son, idolizing his wisdom and majesty;
    instead, here I stand his captor, his mortifier.
    Caged though he be, I wonder...is he more free
    than me outside that pane that separates us?
    Humans struggle still with the terms of life,
    while it seems to me, he finds us humorous,
    the way we grapple and turn it all to strife.
    Man began an ape, but somehow along his way
    has lost the peace simian, amber eyes convey.

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    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

    tygseflrpdme’s Poems (46)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
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