The songless burden
Magic fire exhausted, spells lie spent,
strewn notes fall on deaf ears; I fear for yours.
To live and die in the span of a line
used to shatter tragedies. Wretched days
no longer pacified, no longer sound
premonitions of a haven. Beyond,
a chorus of embers mesmerizes
your tessitura. Beautiful weakness
confesses silent hours; sins on high
drift to earth. Veil a gift, aria,
a sonorous blood in torment. A voice,
serene of old, screams with naked passion.
Your dusk betrays this broken fear set free
in verses fragmented by deepest tears.
Grant my wish, sing of fever glorified;
caress these senses with measures stripped bare -
trade your curse for mine; misery chosen
from those blacker still? Refuse with a glance
glassy with loss shouting to all the world:
withered you live as I fade, fade away.
Close the impulsive window, witness hell.
Your parting lips, ablaze with echoed chords,
drown me in shame. Maiden, hear selfish guilt:
once you stole my breath; steal it once more.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
For someone
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13 comments:
Quelle belle chanson, très belle.
Each and every time I read one of your poems I am rendered speechless---that is quite an accomplishment.
Once you stole my words; steal them more often. Seriously!
You wrote that? Like, with your own fingers? I grant you a raise and an unlimited expense account.
(Please be for me. Please be for me.)
ME, je suis d'accord avec vous. It's the poem I'm not too sure about.
LBR, merci pour vos gentils mots. Just didn't feel like doing more politics bullshit.
diva, yes I did. HA! I told everyone writing verse would pay off. Suck it, Tom Clancy!
uberdilf, sorry, mais non !
candance, thanks. You should see my good side. C'mon, that was sort of funny.
I accidentally posted as my husband. It's much funnier that way.
Nice one, mon ami. I was reminded of Ne Me Quitte Pas. A long time ago I saw him in concert in Toronto in a show called 'Jacques Brel is Alive and Well Living in Paris'.
Oh dear god, I believe reading that poem gave me the vapors. I swear I do. Now my pulse is beating rapidly and my throat is parched.
How about those whatever team?
Tom Clancy n'est pas Randal. Il est juste un pet sans coeur.
The Dolphins gagnera le Super Bowl et Terrance et Phillip ne le saurons jamais.
AWESOME, I going to make my wife read it, maybe it will put her in the mood.
I dreamed you posted a poem. It's true I really did, early this morning just before I regained consciousness. I was going to plead for a poem, just a poem. Just one poem. And what do I get? A song and a poem. You da man.
übermilf, hey, I laughed. But it still ain't for you. How about this one:
Once there was an übermilf
and she had met an überdilf
they went to sit in a tree
and as far as anyone can see
not many words rhyme with -ilf
susan, thanks and that would've been quite the groovy show.
sal, si les Dolphins gagnent le Super Bowl, je vous donnerai un dollar.
BB, thanks. I feel like Dr. Ruth. You know, minus the extreme shortness and sex toy talk. Let us know if it worked!
utah, maybe you have telepathic powers and subconsciously demanded that I do so. Or, more likely, something funky happened and thus, I write. Still get nervous posting them, but I'm sick of politics. Thus a political post today.
That was very beautiful.
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