When The Departed Still Remain
Written on 02/01 at 08:15 PM by Andy Posner
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My bed, that house within a house,
Built of timber from your inner copse, now
Splinters in the dawn, and I must douse
The kisses destined for your brow,
Lest the dreamer destroy the dream
And repose fall from its narrow beam.
O, but how the poet longs
To mingle with your lips,
To plunge into the throngs
Of mysteries between your hips!
For neither sorrow nor deceit outweigh
The truth those mysteries convey!
Time, that marauding force,
Has yet to plunder my home,
Though history ran its course
And added to its mighty, darkened tome;
Alas, the warmth of the future
is to the alluring past but a feeble suture!
The edifice crumbles, but does not fall;
Empty space remains empty for you;
Together we sleep, curled into a ball
Of hope that bounces out of view.
Thus I ask: can I possibly be sane
So long as you, the departed, still remain?
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
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