More powerful than
Medusa, I sap men of their
Man leaving boys who must learn to grow anew.
I have left mewling lambs in my wake.
I can only
Speculate of their transformation.
Philomela traveled to hell to achieve flight.
Will his brown eyes, lightened by Wisdom and Time, momentarily fill with water?
Will his smooth shoulders, grown leanly Herculean with age, hunch forward defeated?
Or will he beg for that which once made him whole?
We are firmly rooted.
We are complete.
We are part God.
We can fight oppression.
We will find the content.