Perhaps I love anachronisms so much,
Because they glow with the light,
That glamor of "better" than now,
That magic of what was or might be,
A lamplight free of dross and tedium,
Adventure and romance,
Unhindered by the day-to-day grind,
The sawdust steps of keeping up mere existence.
Princesses and pirates,
Of ancient kingdoms,
Or on the dying Mars of a forgotten future,
Long stories and fading candles.
The zip and zing of the medium of the day is exhausting,
Propagandized in extremity,
Sucking the life out of a vampire world that feeds on itself blindly.
Give me a journal and quill,
Stars I can see,
A woman of love and wit,
A ship on the sea or cosmos,
A destination luminous,
Along with the friends to accompany.
By: Daniel A. Stafford