The Plastic God
He seems to have a certain magic.
Some think of him as God.
He charms with words, with smiles
But the magic is only a facade.
I see beneath the bottle burnished gold.
He has been wounded once.
And now he strikes at anyone
Who holds the key into tomorrow.
He thought I had a wondrous magic,
The key that opened all the doors,
And with his sword he cut me down.
He took my magic from me.
It hurt him so to see me happy,
While he himself cried lonely tears alone.
Apollo will give me back my magic
And with it I could strike this creature down.
But Hera taught me many things
The most important thing was love.
I cannot strike down the striker
Being but a mortal, he would never know.
My father Zeus has taught me so much wisdom
The Myers's of this world cannot atone
For in striking out at others wonders
He strikes and wounds and kills himself alone.
For B. Myers who cries on the inside while he tries to convince the world he's happy.