Good Intentions

Alas, poor babes for ye were born

Cursed by this very day of yorn.

Your curse? It be never to see

Except that which is in front of ye.

Your heads doth bow and your eyes doth squint,

Cast o’er your souls, a blinding tint

Which blocks out the Sun, the Moon, the Stars.

Your curse lies within those tainted bars.

Do not taunt me with questions of why,

Why was this curse sent from the sky?

If answers ye seek, I tell ye thus,

Go and ask Prometheus.

Summer 2012

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