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while reading allen tate in a hospital room

28 October 2010

Twisted, the gnarled branches loom
ancient, like silent sentinels over a ruined house
where dust, death, and decay reign
over the bones of the ignominious dead
and on the head of the agéd king
rests a bitter, iron crown
weighted with the authority of his own dismay
and disease

and there is no release
for love is a many-splintered thing
and once under the skin,
inflames the flesh and makes a wreck
of the philosophic serenity
only possessed of beasts and gods;
the complacent loneliness abides
and between the granite gravestones
the small, happy, blonde boy hides
and plays his innocent games

the shames and tragic reversals unknown,
the tyrant upon his throne of bones
only a dim, nightmarish fantasy;
and in his ephemeral flights of fancy
he plays the chivalrous knight,
defender of the realm,
slaying ivy-vine dragons and other monsters of the hedge–
unaware that, with the turning of the moon,
and the burning of his blood
too soon would he become
one of the monsters to be slain

again and again and again
the world turns, widening in sublunary passions,
but in sad, luciferian fashion
a story-book hero becomes a real-world villain
with the suddenness of stunning alacrity.

4 Comments leave one →
  1. 28 October 2010 22:50

    Too true. Thankfully redeemable.

  2. 29 October 2010 03:21

    Good one, sir.

    I’ve been wondering where you’ve been. Hope everything is OK.

  3. 4 November 2010 16:32


  4. 4 November 2010 16:32
    you are represented as fresh poets to explore at our Poets Rally week 32.
    you will get some traffic when poets visit you…
    I invite you to become a participant, which helps you get poetry awards upon making a minimum 18 comments to participants. Poetry awards are assigned upon the completion of quality participation.
    Thanks for the considerations. Link in a poem via commenting under the post when you are ready.
    Happy Thursday!

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