"a punk Prometheus",
an overreaching genius.
Too foolish to cherish
his gift--or too wise.
For the world wants slaves,
bullets and gold,
the blood of the young--
certainly not poets.
He finally lost himself,
this brash unconventional youth,
in some dark circle of Dante's hell,
as we all do eventually, in some degree.
Age fostered cynicism and greed,
the keys that led there.
The man died. The youth lives on.