Alexander At Thirty Three - Poem by Joshua Meander
ALEXANDER AT THIRTY-THREE
Did you once consider, Alexander,
Named for the noble Macedonian,
You who are huge, hostile, dreamy and dense,
The structure and weight of your moods are bleak?
What are the Minoans, the Persians
To you? I do not perceive you reading
About the past while you are decaying
Or living up to another’s breeding.
The rulers of the sea were unfortified
Vulnerable targets for enraged bands.
Solidarity saved them from sure defeat.
For you, order is what your life demands.
Compulsively defiled by speed for ten years
Your heart was bound to refuse an abrupt
Command to cross the River of Dying Words,
Which sighs, “To the strongest, who may corrupt.”
Not the rage, no, but abuse will derange you.
You will quit snorting, hastily, and your pose
That pushed away matchless opportunities
Will be in shreds like a hobo’s old clothes.
Your worth will be more spartan than a Spartan’s,
Crumbling at thirty-three, lame in defeat,
And since rehab promises no golden age,
Will you be a lesson or a deadbeat?
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