I saw a young bard,
A prince sitting on
An ancient divan,
Plucking the strings
Of his Dorian lyre.
His dainty fingers
Strummed the gentle lyre
Like brush strokes
By some old master
Who moves with his mind.
The sweet-sounding notes
Of his thespian lyre
Mixed with the thoughts
Of ancient empires
— Of antique wars —
The taste of ashes;
The thought of Diane's
Faded, wasted cheeks;
Young Paris in love;
Fair Hamlet in Hell—
Hecuba smiling.
Our most nascent dreams
Are oft’ forgotten;
Some dreams are older
Than we can recall,
Some dreams ever young.
David is a writer, researcher, poet, and translator based in Montreal. He is the founder of The Chained Muse and New Lyre. His poetry collection is entitled Modern Dreams.
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