In Honor of National Poetry Month

(First published in the winter issue of the Quarterly Journal GNU, 2009)

Upon walking through the woods
I came across a Satyr
Sitting by a running stream.

He had a chill about him
And feeling abject pity
Offered the creature my coat.

The Satyr played a syrinx
And hearing this queer offer
Stopped mid-note and laughed out-loud.

Taken some aback by this
I insisted yet again,
Using stalwart persuasion.

He simply shrugged and stated:
Twas not natures intention
Then went about his playing.

Confused I sat beside him
And formulated questions
To ask this curious sprite.

His melody flowed freely
From the reeds, harmonizing
With the rippling ravine.

When he had finished I asked,
Why is it you're so opposed
To using my offering?

The Satyr thought a moment
Then said: If I take this thing
I will soon depend on it.

Material possession
Nullifies adaptation
And works to enslave the soul.

Quite appalled by his answer
I began to justify
This obvious improvement.

Coats and clothes, I debated,
Enabled man to travel
To lands he could not before.

It's man's ingenuity
That allowed him to evolve
As the dominant species.

You were sold this idea.
The Satyr said musingly,
Springing forth from where he sat.

Man once had hair to shield him
From the bitter elements,
But now he is shedding it.

In fact, man had several
Natural abilities,
Which now are certainly lost.

Haven't you ever noticed
How other animals know
When a tempest is coming?

Man's sense of security
Is a farce and misguided
So he ignores his feelings.

Instead of taking cover
He feels he is beyond harm.
Such is the same with your coat.

But man has developed ways,
I retorted, to predict
When bad weather is coming.

He began laughing again.
Breaking, with his hoofened feet,
The ice that formed in the creek.

Won't you catch your death of cold?
I begged the woodland cod
Fearing his insanity.

With a shocking start he stopped.
Most definitely I won't
He remarked disgustedly.

Now, with his back turned to me
The cold air seemed to crispen
As he looked skyward and spoke:

If you could but understand
The gravity of the path
Humanity has chosen.

How something so simplistic
As you giving me your coat
Would lead to my undoing.

I urged him to sit again
And help me to understand
His passionate position.

On a stump he came to rest
And a light snow fell calmly
Blanketing these mystic woods.

I'll continue speaking then
So that you may understand.
Said the Satyr earnestly.

As I had mentioned before
If I were to take your coat
I would then depend on it.

Everyday I wore it
Would increasingly ensure
My subjugation to it.

Until one day I awoke
Totally subservient
To this object possession.

My skin, no longer able
To stave off the elements,
Would suffer the bite of frost.

From here a slippery slope
Would spiral me down a path
Of endless strife and labor,

For once the coat were outworn
I'd need to buy another
And so my toiling begins.

My existence, no longer
For myself, would then be for
The profit of another.

After submitting my life,
I would attempt to convince
Myself of its benefits,

Likely becoming enthralled
With mass object ownership
As materialists do.

I would purchase a large home,
A sensible vehicle
And a coat for all seasons

In a vain and stale attempt
To create a sense of worth
As equally artifice.

I would horde things needlessly,
Bragging and boasting over
How much I had acquired.

The Satyr then turned about
Looking at me sternly
With his judicious grey eyes.

It would not end with this though,
He said in a calmer tone,
This folly is cyclical.

Curious of his meaning
And not conscious of the time
I bid him please continue.

In agreeance he stated:
Woeful is the capital
Built on the backs of mankind.

It leads humanity down
The dark road of consumption.
Leaving them in idle hope.

Equality then becomes
But a mirage in the eyes
Of the poverty stricken.

Unable to maintain their
Excessive facade of wealth
They create a world of debt.

The rich become penniless
For all they keep is fiat,
Base and illusionary.

You are unreasonable!
I yelled, jumping to my feet.
This can't possibly be true?

The deity scratched his beard,
Clicked his hooves on the ambo,
Then kindly asked for my coat.

The air took a bitter pall
And I, now reluctant, paused-
Being a long mile from home.

Of course, He said with a smile.
You should keep it my new friend
For you need it more than I.

With that he shook the snow off,
His breath hanging in the air
As he turned to walk away.

Wait! How do I escape this?
I asked. The Satyr replied:
Only in death are you free.

Then, vanished into the woods.
I, left to the elements,
Began my trek back homeward.