Cento II

Cento II

into the ragged meadow of my soul
eat the grasses of the cemeteries forever.
I have paid my price to live with myself on the terms that I willed.
The feelings I don’t have, I don’t have.

Grief reached across the world to get me,
something old and tyrannical burning there.
I am this one
the one who remains silent when I talk.
the real work is done outside
by someone digging in the ground.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
Eyes and ears are bad witnesses for men with barbarous souls.
I have gone back into my hooded silence,
of shadows in lit rooms that would swallow the darkness.
I have grown weary, weary,
untouched by morning,
of what is past, or passing, or to come.

even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course.
You cannot touch these phantoms…
meanwhile this ghost goes under.
Like a knife slicing through the muscle of my heart,
and a chant unbidden, unhired
there is a wolf in me.
Of alien bloods am I.
I will rise after a thousand years.

Imagine how easily a lion crushes
a pair of fawns in his powerful jaws.
Who hasn’t been tempted by the sharp edge of a knife
Cold as time, smelling of blood-brown leaves?

They talk of short-lived pleasure — be it so—
Pain is not the fruit of pain.
The living come to mingle with the dead.
what flowers in the dark
the haunted chambers of the heart
Oh Lord, here i am.

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[With respect to: e.e. cummings, h. jeremiah lewis, frederico garcia lorca, Rudyard Kipling, D.H. Lawrence, Catullus, Thomas McGrath, Juan Ramon Jimenez, Rumi, Theodore Roethke, Heraclitus, Robert Duncan, David Ignatow, Santal, Emily Dickinson, William Butler Yeats, Carl Sandburg, W.H. Auden, Jim Morrison, Aeshylus, Douglas Young, Homer, STanley, Lombardo, Georgia Douglas Johnson, Chris Abani, April Bernard, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Natasha Trethewey, William Cullen Bryant, lloyd Schwartz, and Eduardo C. Corral].

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Posted on March 17, 2016, in Poetry, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Comments Off on Cento II.

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