The principled prince of “O”;
How like Ophelia,
that whithered Rose!
Or poor Narcissus,
“pouring” over the image
of the percieved soul, that was,
Does the big “O” ‘see’ when he reflects on his own, cast, visage?
Or is it merely a razor-thin and silvered plane?
Not unlike the plane upon which the actor is painted in the movie theater.
An image, on a screen, (and little else).
Oh bombast, where is thy sting?
So enamoured with self, so aloof in the “power of ‘O’ “.
And while civilizations are replaced, with a frightening hord,
you comb your hair, flash your smile, and drink in your own essence.
And essence upon essence may only build to produce greater and greater essence; and soon, our very being will be defined by the sweet smelling rOse.
And so, Bombastic “O” (B.O. for short), I say to thee…eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow, we stink!