Saturday, July 08, 2017


I do not know you, Xanadu, 
With all your secret mysteries, 
Your sultry siren softly singing, 
Strumming on her dulcimer.

Steeped in all your grandeur, were you 
Meant to be for fools like me? 
Standing at your intersect, 
No direction, no desire.  

Who will taste your pleasures now that 
You have turned to icy stone? 
Must they strap on spikes of steel 
To trek the tundra you endure?

And what of oceans, dark and deep 
Beneath your frozen forestry? 
Do your creatures lurk in stealth 
To bite the hand where once they fed?

Time and trial and so unkind the 
Pictures left to memory. 
I do not know you, Xanadu. 
Perhaps I never will.

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