Panacea's Proxy

They bring me black holes, they bring me black souls;
they bring me the night, calling it starlight.
They bring me a jar, the make of their spite;
they bring me power, they bring me controls.

I am playing Panacea perhaps-
they bring me their open wounds to nurse.
A pot of poems, the pithos of verse;
why do they present me my own collapse?

Absent minded, when I open my heart,
all bonds fume to nothing; their names escape.
And I am left a creature sans a shape.

Panacea playing Pandora's part-
I am but a myth floating in the scape.
I am only a drape and not a shape.