Thursday, January 3, 2019

Pallas and the Centaur (Botticelli), Sonnet #438

My book of the first 200 of these sonnets is now available for purchase. Click here:
My Human Disguise.

The centaur, about to loose an arrow,
As he often did, just to kill a thing,
Without a reason he would ever know,
Loved to hear the snapping of his bow string.
There was no party he wouldn’t disrupt,
No innocent love he didn’t corrupt.
We have men, part ass, just like him today
Who do even more harm with what they say.
The beast had his Pallas to grab his hair
And yank it hard to arrest his error.
Who’ll be our goddess of right and reason,
To fight, for us, the centaurs of treason —
Those not-even-half-men who live to steal
The meals and drink of the commonweal?

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