Thalia has had a bit of a rough week. I think I may fairly say that most of her energies have been directed in non-poetic pursuits, such that she was ready to concede defeat to the Dusty Thane and The Edge.
But as in all duels, it seemed meet and right for her to have a second, one who would battle in her stead and let her
grab some healing potion catch a breather or whatever dueling poets need to support this poesy and life.
It would also be fair to say that this is not my best, and it is rather spoiler-laden for anyone intending to watch the BBC series Sherlock who hasn’t gotten around to it yet. I shall say it again: Spoilers ahead. Go watch it and get back to us.
We watched him leap and plummet to the ground,
forsaking life to save those lives he loves –
his limbs gone limp, his crushed head bloodied ‘round,
with no one reassuring us he bluffs
but for that glimpse once John had left his grave.
We eagerly that fiction seize and trust
which somehow shall the great detective save –
how terrible to love what death can touch!
The greatest fan owns death’s reality,
and shoves a slew of souls in its direction.
For all we can’t evade mortality,
we sure do love to see a resurrection!
I think there must a greater reason be
than Sherlock’s vowed return in Season Three.