Despair? Is that perhaps too strong?
Impossible? How can it be,
when any half-blind fool can see
it happens all the time? They sing
of it in many a bawdy song.
The flapping of Hope’s tinsel wing
must sometimes gain good traction on
the stagnant air of middle age
to lift away the iron cage
of Fate, or of enfeebled will
more like - don’t blame inaction on
the circumstances. No, it’s still
your fault if you won’t dare to try
an unlocked door for fear it might
let in a cold and starless night
that offers no consoling thought
of distant poles and planetary
rotation, only darkness fraught
with disappointment. Courage then!
Wake from this languor! There she stands.
Step nearer, give her both your hands.
Look full into her smiling face.
This is the day predicted when
the parallels shall meet in warm embrace.
II
The simple truth is that you loved too much.
No use to blame the circumstances, all
the trials and sorrows likely to befall
a foolish quest embarked upon at such
high risk. As losing gamblers will, you curse
‘the opposition of the stars’ and thus
lament the impotence of Hope, who flapped
her tinsel wings till they were tattered rags
of tearful resignation and the cracks
began to widen in the weak cement
of your resolve. Was it cruel Fate that sapped
your will? No. Fate was clearly innocent.
This talk of parallels and poles – its sense
that friendship, although distant, might endure
like planetary orbits – is a sure
sign of denial. You know in heart and gut
the storm that wrecked your ship was nothing but
the laughter of her cold indifference.
No comments:
Post a Comment