The Harp and the Vine
You ask, and I wonder,
but I still know my mind;
here in the garden the columbine
spirals and curls, begging for rain,
and your words like the thunder
echo from clouds;
I know your pain, but I am proud,
and here in the garden the rosy thorn
still mocks me,
filled with fitting scorn.
You ask, but the iris will pay you no mind
as the wind starts to hum
through the harp and the vine.
Seneca Ponders Death
The dead within the tomb is laid,
the final rites are brought to close,
the eyes no more behold the day,
are shut in endless night's repose.
Can hint be found of more to life,
or is that but a passing tale?
What worth is it to leave this light
when on that threshold life will fail?
What morning sunlight, morrow's morn,
will shatter sky in reddening dawn,
what sunset scatter drops forlorn
on all that Ocean holds in bond?
Like smoke that curls from smoldered coal,
like cloud before the forceful wind,
our vital life will upward roll
and pass, and fade, and come to end.
It all will, like the sons of Time,
be snatched and eaten straight away.
Thus swiftly speed the stars sublime,
as swiftly moonlight flees the day.
In frenzied minds we cities build
of torment, shade, and ceaseless hells;
are not these rumors fear has filled,
depictions born of nightmare fell?
When laid are we in fatal tomb,
who of our spirit's fate is sure?
Perhaps no shade will be our doom:--
Ask those who never lived nor were.
The Narcissist
So fair is his existence,
no eye resists;
a third of heaven would turn traitor
and give up bliss
for but the lying promise
of his kiss.
The Devil is a lovely creature --
and he knows it.
All creation and his smile
show it.
His beauty is so great,
his style so nice;
his smile sparkles so,
like starlit ice,
that God might die to make him --
were that the price.
Yes, the Devil is a lovely creature --
and he knows it.
Would to God he had the grace
not to show it.
He sits up in the airs,
face like a god,
devoid of heartfelt cares!
But it is odd
how frozen he is there
with ruler's rod.
Yes, the Devil is a lovely creature --
and he knows it.
His actions are so eager
to disclose it!
His beauty has no match.
No equal vies
to rival the mighty light
with which he lies;
it is so easy, and so simple,
to despise,
for he lifts himself up higher
than the skies.
The Devil is a lovely creature --
and he knows it.
All creation and his mirror
show it.
