For Poetry's Sake
These Violent Delights
She will drop madness from a pen.
And from this loss, these ashes,
Softly springs
A twining vine - a growing thing
Green above the deadened mulch of soil
In Care's dim glow, unsolved
And falling slow
A gardener she becomes
Bent low and coaxing daily from illusion
Realities to glitter sharply in fresh suns
"Death be not proud." You -
were not bright, but sudden gone,
Though bitter tastes the air behind your wake.
The mourner's song floats low among the trees
A brown leaf journeys to the ground.
The great dream heavy lies
Crumbling visage of stone on sand -
god no more. And in his crown
A worm crawls 'round,
Feeding on the insane root unseen.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thanks for commenting!
Please copy your comment before sharing, as often comments get lost if you aren't signed in with a Google account. If you have trouble, sign in with your Google account, or email me at pdgraham074@gmail.com with your comment!