Man Thou Never Wert Poem by Patti Masterman

Man thou never wert
Hallowed room wherein the house
Was troubled by his touch
Indented deeply was the couch
In mind, but not by such

Fashioned of ravings unpretentious
The oily midnight herds drew nigh
To fodder of visionings well-tended
But only unharnessed horses fly-

Stirrings of drear self-symphonies
Gave birth, to more sterile seed
'Let's give him blue empathy for eyes'
How comely indeed!

Come, let us give our hearts to the dirt
Open soft earth, and dig
And drain, and hang it up to dry
Then shrink till nothing fit

The golden god once more must die
And none on golden thrones shall sit.