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State-of-the-Art
Salieri
By Tatiana Pahlen
Tortured
by a slow poison,
allowing ire nesting a trap,
Inside his heart he erects a war zone,
inspiring jealousy to dwell on flatulence and treason,
Turning green pastures into turf,
while honored by the cheering mob.
Sweating in fruitless labor,
He labels the price for his measly skills.
In the center
using elbows,
he fails to shine among his peers;
His sense of self is largely airborne,
condemning brilliance is a needless risk.
May
3, 2005
© 2005
Tatianyc. All Rights Reserved.
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