|Posted by Mark Cantrell on April 19, 2015 at 8:40 AM|
By Mark Cantrell
Old... old, you say?
You call me old,
Still wet behind the flagellum,
Bathed still in the
Seminal fluid of a rise to blinking
I shall tell you, tender shoot,
I am not old,
So ancient indeed that beyond
Time and measure
Do I find youth eternal.
Ageless and timeless, I am,
Ebbing, surging, with vigour,
While you, young sperm,
Still beat your tender tail
Against the flow of seeding,
To reach your place of spawning,
Whence to claim some ovum to call your home.
Why, you, barely formed,
Dare to put forth your wasted squirt
Of fleeting existence
Against mine, which has
Deep in the ageless realms of time,
Where youth is ephemeral, and
12 June 2010
Copyright © June 2010. All Rights Reserved.