The Idealist's Fate
Times there are
in dreams and days
when I behold
with hollow eyes
a happy horde
hastening away,
hailing men and aims
wormwood to me
as they dwindle to dim
on distant horizons,
leaving me alone,
stuck in a Dali landscape,
a tattered map in hand,
my canteen rattling,
my legs tired and trembling,
my heart a leaden lump,
my spirit a limp Dali watch
half sagging off a table.
