A poem that's been percolating in my mind recently, finally filtered down to paper in a make-up writing class last Saturday. Some editing still in order.
Beware this ancient agent of wisdom
At the prime of his faculties
Ere he was brought low by his drink
Beware the searching lantern eyes
Ever on the lookout
For the honest men of Greece
Beware the sharp silver tongue
Which cuts with the confounding power of truth
Implacable corruptor of Athens' fair-haired youth!
To him, all ground is fertile
Nowhere sacred, nowhere safe
Be it market, forum, palace, or temple
Beware those wiry hands
That reach out and grab
For victims of his method
Then with the force of a knife
He wrenches an answer to the existential question:
"Your money or your life?"