Both of these are older ones I had lying around.
I have given my hand to the tasks of the day.
I have fallen, I have risen, I have fallen again;
I have lost myself often, impeding my own path,
going astray in the darkness made by my hand.
When time in its gnawing has turned to me
I have run with great fear from its wraiths and visions.
A wolf I have been, a sheep I have been,
predator to myself, prey to myself,
parasite to others and both predator and prey.
You have seen me in hope and sloughed in despair,
when I wore a bright mask to shine in the gloom,
you have seen me fail and succeed in my errors,
and known my great strengths and overcomings.
I have hid my nature from both you and myself,
hidden it away in a self-made prison,
hoping for a light, and afraid of that light,
yearning for freedom from which I shrink.
Gloria in Mundo
Beauty in elegy, mournfully sweet,
the blush of youth behind a widow's veil,
the deer's last leap, the fire embering,
the last echoing word of a sad tale,
the parting kiss, the heart's last beat,
two forgotten and ancient souls remembering;
the beauty that stirs like a passing breeze,
stirring because no more as it begins,
the child's smile no one again will see,
Eve's last virtuous glance before she sins;
perishing life, perishing memory, failed hope,
a gladness for the eye of one turning blind,
the final reasoned thought of maddened mind;
Rome ruining, the grave stripped cold;
the sadness after sex, death alone enduring;
the initiating moment of overwhelming fear
like fragility in its shattering;
the pine in scented mourning
wailing in the winds, "The dead,
the dead of earth are here!"