This first edition published 2012.
Copyright 2012 Susanu. All rights reserved.
CANTO THE FIRST
There is a kind of moment, it is said,
Both the apotheosis of pure bliss
And portent of a future bright ahead,
Which, once it's lived, the one who lived will miss
It so, he'll chase it down till his deathbed.
A thing as simply perfect as a kiss
Can start a search for the eternal truth,
But only if it's sanctified by youth.
This is a tale of youth that I'd relate,
With facts of life and little fluff fantastic.
It's not quite picaresque, not quite sedate,
Yet may at times come off as too bombastic,
Which I intend and hope to expiate,
But know it's very often half-sarcastic!
If quirks in this pastiche you will allow,
Dear reader, I'll begin the story now.
On top a busy bridge one morn 'round ten,
Dressed in a handsome suit with hand-sewn hems,
Don Juan stood, contemplating how and when
To leave the place from which stagnation stems.
Around him, he saw multitudes of men
And women who'd come there to see some gems,
A church, a prison, and a ferris wheel,
Which had to them a glorious appeal.
But their adventure was to him a bore.
Although he had arrived not long ago,
Already his eyesight was rather sore
Of constant dreariness and cloudy woe.
Or it perhaps had been the days of yore
When all those boroughs he first got to know;
He could not tell. His memory was hazy,
Like morning's mist. Or maybe he was crazy?
To free his mind from all the fog surrounding,
He thought to look for climes less overcast,
In cloudless skies and sunlight more abounding,
Milieus fit for remembering the past,
Or at least for the present less confounding.
The bright days of his youth, they wouldn't last,
Nor would their energy persist forever.
It was time to pursue a new endeavor.
I nearly chose to plunge 'in medias res'
Because I'm eager to give a preview
Of this endeavor's story and the ways