Monday, September 19, 2005

Postmodern Paris

I understand how Paris felt
when he looked upon Helen
in Menelaus' house

Did her eyes entrap him
like yours caught me?
Did her every move, word, sigh
pull the net tight?

They probably exchanged
glances filled with passion;
both hurting and alone.

Did her eyes plead him
to set her free?
Did her every tear, shudder, cry
keep him awake at night?

As they ran away together,
did the joy of freedom
run through their veins?

Run away with me, I'd say
but I know you won't.
You are no Helen of Troy;
and I no Paris.

Unknown

1:55 PM

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