The Springtime of the Gods

The Springtime of the Gods

Funeral of Shelley, by Louis Édouard Fournier. 1889

 

The Death of Shelley

 

The death of Shelley
Fell like the proverbial star
Like the star that shot
Across the womb

Of the world
For three nights
— Three nights without
A crescent moon to fear

As humans once feared
The rebirth of kings

When god died once more
That hue was already
Outmoded

And it would be outmoded again
With Janis and Jimi and Morrison’s

Hotel

We’re too weary of cults
To start another

We’re too jaded
To feel the stab of prophetic youth

Of potential unmet
Of genius flamed out

Like the proverbial rocket
Across the heavens
One too many
Times

Our gods should be young
But we seek the old
The comfortably simple
The Yahwehist hell and brimstone

 

— The world is hopeless
Because it struggles
To outlast its potential
Its spark of genius

Its first and only spring

 

 

— by Douglas Pinson

 

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