“They are lonely… they repel influences…”
– Ralph Waldo Emerson
The beleaguered guest has come and gone,
the chamber closed, the book undone,
the tower in the mind in disrepair;
and, I, the tributary Fool of Time fall flatly
before the solitary thought that mocks me.
Could I have brought my life to naught,
given way to the passions of servility;
sought the company of laughter
instead of tears, I’d of trumped the beast
and held the world at bay with grace
instead of this diffidence and hostility;
how like the sun I strove to turn
back the sea, but it only fell, incomplete;
the waves crashing in my mind
like the fabled labors of the night, shriven
of necessity, blinded by lust and fatality.
Her eyes sift me like those grains of sand,
the years of our love’s leaves squandered,
disarrayed and vanquished; –
gone, gone the smile that brought me light;
now begins the bitter solitude of night,
a fatal walk among black trees, a breath
both cold and spiteful, my only company.
My mawkish mind harbors voices from the wind,
throaty places; those blanks in the snow, whitening;
leveraging nothingness against the day’s stone eye,
resolving darkness and memory, a shadowed visibility
shifting me into a simplicity of clarity beyond rage,
unbidden: a sudden gift, unexpected – a squat thing
in the hollow of the sun’s declivity; a vision
that fills this emptiness with a crowd’s sublimity.
– Steven Craig Hickman ©2015 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.