Love's Palace Poem by Wes Wilbur

Over those fair blonde locks I stare so intently,
yesterday's etiquette has such a sweet minute of respite.
And all the dreams I had yesterday,
flow so sweet like wine into the visual palate that is today.
But is this wine not bitter now?
Maintained in a keg so distant and lonely.
It's been years and years since this dream set foot,
and still today she doesn't hold me.

In my minute of courtesy's rest I ask myself this question,
have i not tried to work my way into her attention?
Perhaps it is my fault and mine alone that the grapes of her beauty are so sour.
It was years ago I plowed the fields and sowed those seeds of sorrow.
Looking at her brilliants pools of blue I regret this course of action,
and vow for certain to raise my scythe and scour the vineyard, leaving only bent stalks and burnt ashes.


As she turns back and eyes connect the moment of madness does end.
A return to pleasantries, polite conversation and the way of the courtesan.
But this man is not docile nor his ways ineffective and to this end victory is my sole directive.
To touch the bliss and taste the sweetness,
will never be the dream on the old sinners deathbed.

Bend not to the people who stress stringent civility and malice,
but bend towards your beloved and live in love's palace.