She dawns amber
sighing the lost eternal echo
through sterile branch
and twisted wood.
Tender she calls
then yields her golden hair
at my wrinkled feet -
the ritual of her deceit.
My cursed love -
lonely she chants
till tender turns to blaze
till mellow turns to caustic.
I shrivel brown and cracked
to her mad scorch across the sky -
the earth parches in her embrace.
Straw mouthed I admit her
Triumphant.
She releases and with dew forgives
my impotence.
Shadows overtake me as
she taunts with the dying
echo of a melody
forcing memory of our love
and the lost now,
the endless future.
She faintly calls
but
I cannot lift my crippled arms to reach.
"Take back your gift"
I cry
I cry
"Give me back my mortality."
What did you think
Comments
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"but when loathsome old age pressed full upon him, and he could not move nor lift his limbs, this seemed to her in her heart the best counsel: she laid him in a room and put to the shining doors. There he babbles endlessly, and no more has strength at all, such as once he had in his supple limbs."
Superb - just a work of art, as is your theme.
Wonderful work.
J
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