Dead In The Clutch Of Power
Thou mighty wind How powerless art thou over the tiny shrubs and grass of the field Thou strong , giant and tough tree How helpless art thou before the mighty wind. Power is but an element of vulnerability Of the finest wine Of the god in the bottle Even if I have it from dawn till the day is old and tired I may become drunk But never as intoxicated as I become after a smattering of power. My table is set My meal is ready Fresh egocentricity garnished with a spoonful of power My tumbler overruns from the superfluity of my haughtiness Who lives after such banquet? A feast on venoms. Such bitterness enfolded in sweetness The mere perception of its aroma yields a burning ardor and yearning for more The sweeter, the deadlier. It makes the timid fearless It makes the weak dauntless It makes the shy audacious Yet the one thing you would keep It would not spare- your soul. In the corridor of power There are two seats One for you One for death. Wri...