Broken Stair
An Old Story
Through all the tears,
these bitter fears
that choke the living soul
freeze the blood
with winter love
and the heart you stole.
But when, my thief,
will hope's relief
come as the poets told?
I fear this still:
It never will,
a bitter dusk and cold.
Our gold is dross,
our gain is cost,
our new is obsolete;
and all our lives
are little lies,
perpetual defeats;
but when I hear
your voice so clear
it hints at worlds more sweet,
and then I dream
of hopes unseen
when love is more complete.
Without a thought
I'm cold then hot,
a mind's insanity;
you look around
at what you've found --
it's all inanity.
And when your eye
is raised on high
you think there's more to be,
and then you tend,
I can depend,
to walk right out on me.
And if I cry,
or even die,
would you really care?
If I proposed
a life of woes
could you even dare?
But knowing life
you'll run and hide
and leave me here to fare
without your grace
in an empty place,
to climb a broken stair.
Venus Anadyomene
Blood and foam do battle,
intermingle, intermix,
roll together, sea-compounded
of wave and god and death.
Beauty blooms upon the seacrest,
ascends from byssal womb,
naked in its native glory
on a fierce and naked tide:
Dione on the wave ascends,
foam-skinned with a living blush,
golden-haired and guiltless white
upon a blood-red sea.
