Do we ever change dear? None ever changes –
neither a man - not even a blade of grass.
We are cultivated only in the reformatory
Out of what we are, bred by waves
Of netty pretty pictures, words pretty
Having no fragrance, no taste of honey
Fed by their ever growing netty tentacles
We are delivered always by the reformists
Selling - buying - swallowing swarms of locusts.
To change is to grow is to keep
The inner flame alive in us
Is the only option most dangerous
Is left to us of our creative powers.
© Remigius de Souza., All rights reserves.