| |
purveyed, tender perversity
in all encampments...ships at sea....
it is...it isn't.......
let it be....
a beacon seen....unseen as well...
hear spirit-borne enchanted bell...
whose peal rings out immensities
of octaves, singing sounds......that knell
speaks now of joy...as oft of hell-
raising hopes and questions, too...
'would you be mine, if I were you'?
as trippingly, liltingly sung,
the siren's call is lost among
the winter clouds....to be reborn
on every fourth... or fifth...spring morn
on other shores those waves shall lap....
the hare and fox, each in their trap,
their mortal tails, coiled, weaving...bare
their need to run.....to leap through air....
to twirl and sing...stand in the fire....
to strip off skins...wear pure desire
the restless heart can but admire
from distance....love, a sweet quagmire........
delilah contrapunctal.... yes, that's how I intended to spell it.........
|
|
User Rating: |
|
10.0
/10
(3 votes) |
|
|
|
Free
Poetry E-Book:
E-mail this poem to e friend