poetrypage

poetry page

let not young souls be smothered out before
they do quaint deeds and fully flaunt their pride
it is the world's one crime, its babes grow dull
its poor are ox-like, limp, and leaden-eyed

not that they starve
but starve so dreamlessly
not that they sow
but that they seldom reap
not that they serve
but have no gods to serve
not that they die
but that they die like sheep

i am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground so it is, and so it will be, for so it has been time out of mind: into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. crowned with lilies and with laurel they go; but i am not resigned.
lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you, be one with the dull, the indiscriminated dust. a fragment of what you felt, of what you knew, a formula, a phrase remains -- but the best is lost.
the answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love -- they are gone, they are gone to feed the roses. elegant and curled is the blossom. fragrant is the blossom. i know. but i do not approve. more precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses of the world.
down, into the darkness of the grave. gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind; quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave. i know, but i do not approve. and i am not resigned. .

for us like any other fugitive,
like the numberless flowers that can't number
and all the beasts that need not remember
it is today in which we live

so many try to say not now
so many have forgotten how
to say i am and would be
lost, if they could, in history

bowing, for instance, with such old-world grace
to a proper flag in a proper place,
muttering like ancients as they stump upstairs
of mine and his or ours and theirs

just as if time were what they used to will
when it was gifted with possesions still
just as if they were wrong
in no more wishing to belong

no wonder then so many die of grief
so many are so lonely as they die;
no one has yet believed or liked a lie,
another time has other lives to live

whatever's good or bad or both is surely better than the none; there's grace in either love or loathe; sunlight, or freckles on the sun.
the worst and best are both inclined to snap like vixens at the truth; but, o, beware the middle mind that purrs and never shows a tooth
beware the smooth ambiguous smile that never pulls the lips apart; salt of pure and pepper of vile must season the extremer heart
a pinch of fair, a pinch of foul and bad and good make best of all; beware the moderate soul that climbs no fractional inch to fall
reason's a rabbit in a hutch, and ecstasy's a werewolf's ghost; but, o, beware the nothing-much and welcome madness and the most!

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