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Jon Reid

If you don't learn to write your own story, someone else will write it for you

1 poem·Since April 2013
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The Winds of Ithaca

April 12, 2013
I can hear The winds of Ithaca Fill the sails Of distant ships I know what lurks In sea fathoms and above, Their idle game Of such cursory affection I breathe As my father breathes; My father bleeds As I bleed Burn these days Of breathless sorrow With the wily fires of Grand Odysseus String his bow Let it not forsake me Sink the arrow Or Death take me
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