Well, blogger is fucking with my formatting so I'll just post the poem
The Penelopiad
No longer
Shall I be some delicate thing,
Tear stained and beautiful,
Gentle curves against the dying sun
No longer
Shall I linger, watching
The waves lap upon
Our barren shore
No longer
Shall I weave this shroud
Only to pull it apart
By the light of the moon
No longer
Shall my limbs protect you,
My blossoms adorn you,
My fruit sustain you
No longer.
(but I’ve grown roots on this shore;
which is worse,
the extrication or the wait?)
No comments:
Post a Comment