mhall46184@aol.com
We Are All Characters in a Russian Novel
Our steppes and birch woods are metaphorical
And so are we - who has not seen himself
In youth as the innocent Alyosha
Or in bad days as Dimitri or Ivan
Grushenka at times, and pale Katya too
The Grand Inquisitor at our dark worst
Old Karamazov lusting after Death
Foul Smerdyakov descending cellar stairs
Or gypsy dancers in a rented room
Rolling Polish officers for their pay
But who could ever be Father Zosima?
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