Looked down with a scowl <br />Irritant disapproval <br />Chastising the independent deviation <br />From the quo, status not to be <br />Challenged, words of shame poured <br />From those reverent vials, heavenly lips <br />Of wisdom, never questioned <br />Threatening to destroy what had taken so long <br />To build. <br /> <br />The time had come. <br /> <br />Telemachus’ shield forged in ancient fires <br />Burnished by the gods, leapt from <br />The iron of tyronic breast, taking shape of will <br />To deflect in obedient force of honor; <br />The sword <br />Sheathed from the beginnings of silence <br />Ripped from its scabbard, swung in bold arc <br />A flash of light trailing in its wake <br /> <br />Severed the master’s head. <br /> <br /> <br />(Previously published in Boloji, Apr 2003)<br /><br />Laurence Overmire<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mentor-4/
