The Golden Ass



I laugh!

You are transformed

And I watched you change

Moribund stranger

I watched you change from a young man into a crone!

For so long you wandered and played like a young ass in the dunes

You were a child of fortune, and then a man of distinction

But You were laden with so many jewels and so much empty praise

You began to show your age before your age had come

So you changed

And I watched you change

You were so beautiful once

Like a golden ass

Your hair was yellow, a mane really

You were so strong when you were still oh so young

You sang songs

You kissed all the pretty girls

You were a warrior to be feared

What are you now?

You are an old crone with a stick and a story to tell about a youth that was transformed

No one believes your stories anymore

But I do

I watched you changed

I was there when you were called a Golden Ass

I was there when that was a name you took pride in

Ancient History, animals, Paganism, poetry

The Old Man And The Ibex


Woe betide his piteous misfortune

He is lost in a labyrinth of sand

No resolute Bedouin to guide him

No horse to take the burden from his legs

The sun above is restless and will soon

Slink fast away below the horizon

Leaving the weak old man to brave the cold

Comforts of a frigid desert twilight

Alas all hope seems most unwarranted

Until our hero spots the silhouette

Of a desert creature against the sun

It is the Ibex, lord of all the dunes

The sight of such a noble creature brings

A swell to the imams heart and cool tears

To his burnt, dry, and sand encrusted eyes

“O brother Ibex peace be upon you!

I beg of you please show me the way home”

The proud old beast stuck out his bearded chin

“Art thou a Christian O ye lost old man?”

The old man coughed and shook his tired head

“Ibex I worship not that carpenter”

The Ibex seemed to laugh with his black eyes

“Art thou a Jew then O ye haggard wretch?”

The Imam frowned and spit into the sand

“I am no slave of the book of Moses”

The Ibex smiled a strange and unctuous smile

“Why then you must be a Mohammedan!”

The old man fell to his wretched old knees

“I am no Christian, and I am no Jew

I was once a Mohammedan but now

I am just a misbegotten old crone

And I admit I worship only you”

The Ibex bowed ‘til his horns touched the sand

“Well then my first act as lord and savior

Is to lead my true prophet from this place

Grab my horn and I will show you the way”

And thus was born a momentary faith

A new born creed of base necessity

Manufactured piety, but real grace