To you, the sudden hope outlined in lips,
I ask the question that fear had ne’er touched:
What myth does explain life’s dance upon a crypt,
The unreal made real, the lost firmly clutched?
Give me a vulgar sunset of pious
Red and blue. Free me of meter and rhyme,
The constraint of great laws, Himalayan
In their looming grace; great, if not sublime.
Yet if you must go, leave your charred embrace
To singe the sinews of my tortured soul
And paint the twilight on my sullen face;
I alone wear a ring of tears grown old.
O, but if you stay, warn the heaven’s Might:
A lover’s heart cares not for heaven’s plight!
Monday, August 15, 2011
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