Going back now, I see the stand of pines,
the mountain climbing out of green to white
caps enshrouded in clouds and flanked by snow.
When among men will come the cost of deeds?
what mad pursuit of silk and gold is this
that we, we happy breed of men have let
My conscience is a needle’s point
that is thread through the days behind;
I must have toddled as well as the best,
but being uneasy by my crib
I’ve heard the talk of proof that is puzzling you
My breath fogs the window,
some promise out of science
I wished to see your smile,
but got only pain the while—
It’s things grown old that hurt my bones,
a spread of green can easily fold
to visions of dust and dirt, and worse.
Among the smoke and fog of a coal fire,
the steel and the city
Some say the times are changing fast,
Some say they always have.
Let the elite country clubs become grave yards.
Come and erect the boards,
and let low the noose, and let known the deeds
Sometimes love is cliché.
Damn the cost of being so young,
Should I compare you to a winters morn?
You are more bitter and more discontent
Among the worlds most pressing ruins I have seen
artifacts come rising as phoenixes
to part their form from the fierce driven wind
and sand that whirls around in its dying
The summer crests and meets
fleeting flecks of dyeing dog days,
an era vanishes into the past—
Our lives pass like cherry blossoms,
snapped from hurried branch to ripened fruit.
We flit from first to fledged to finished,
put out to ash one hundred years an instant.
My flesh stripped from the bones,
the body miraculous
stands but as a series of groans
and gears in breach of trust;
We wish to be a king not free
of the autocrat or tyrant’s
immortal knee on our airway—
easier to be chained than change.
Around her I was Icarus
with wings alight and burnt to nubs,
now glowing as embers and garnets
as I slowly descend into the adjust
of knowing there is no longer an us
and longing to submit to the plunge.