Promises

Do you remember the time I told you
Our love was to last “forever”
Even beyond death? Well, that wasn’t true.
Whether I believed it at the time, whether
I suspected it was more poetry than prose,
Or whether I cared one way or the other,
Is hard to say — but a rose is a rose,
And thankfully we’re no longer lovers.
You may think I was surprised by how quickly
Your star fell in my heliocentric view,
How your starved ghost became hollow and sickly;*
Yet what shocked me was not my truths being untrue,
But how soon such promises were made again,
And how ready I was to believe them.

*You might think that, you might very well think that; I could not possibly comment.

Leander

You rest in some Dardanellean tower,
And I imagine you at your sacred tasks,
The ablutions you make from hour to hour,
Before wrapping the veils of your masks.
Yet a tumultuous gulf is between us
And its dark waters swirl with menace,
So if diving I am tossed and aimless,
A high price may I pay in penance.
But if you light your lamp to guide my way
I may pursue that golden, flaming star
Waiting on the shore for me to say
A word brought to you from that shore afar.
And if your flame to your chamber bids us,
There dim the lamp — your soul is light enough.

Anfortas 

O my love, I have been intimate, near,
In passing flashes, yet now all is waste
And injured I cannot rise above fear:
The memories remain, the joy is erased.
I live by a spring, I bathe but am not cleansed,
And outside there is sun I do not see,
By love alone my shattered heart may mend,
As I wait for a sweet voice to ask of me.
But what else is life but being near you?
Oh, to be given to you; you to me—
I will be faithful to you, true—
With you everything can be—
Without you I am unwhole and desolate—
With you, reborn, and together we beget.

Our Last

This will be your last poem
When I say goodbye
When I speak of love forever
Until the day I die.

But you’ll forget me;
Maybe one day I’ll forget you too
And one day there will be a day
When I’ll never think of you.

I won’t think of you when I’m walking home
I won’t even think of you in my prayers
And wherever I am whenever I am
I won’t picture you there.

But maybe you will remember—
I almost want it so,
That every day there will be a moment
When you recall what you let go.

So fare thee well and all of that
I must be on my way,
I must head towards my tomorrow
And you’re my yesterday.

Tous les matins du monde

All the mornings of this world never return,
Never the same dawn breaks, the same stream flows,
Nor embers glow after their heat is burned,
Nor our lives relived in this world, God knows.
No breath returns to us unspent once breathed,
Nor love unsaid, nor hate unspoken,
Nor can passion be unfelt once unsheathed,
Nor heart unchanged after being broken.
And never shall you be returned to me
Unless some mercy reunites our hearts,
And never this forlorn soul rest freely
If so unlovingly we are to part.
But if love returns neither you nor dawn
Then you—and all my mornings—now are gone.

Night of the Soul

O Darkness to which we’ve been cast
We knew light before you
And boundless Beauty unsurpassed
By any beauty untrue.
We knew gardens before seed cracked,
Joy before joy was lost
To this prison, this sea of self and lack
In which we have been tossed.

O night of my soul, moonless dark,
Soon sobs will break silence,
The nightingale wake the lark
With a song of penance.

Soon, soon, stars will shine and the sun
Will make life rebegun.

Silence

Once I dreamed of happiness, happiness
And I dreamt it in the sun
And I now I find such loneliness, well I guess
Such is as dreams become.

I know you’re there, someplace, somewhere,
But you don’t hear or speak;
And I care until I cannot care,
And days drag on for weeks.

I was happy some time ago,
Happier than I knew,
Voices filled my days, my nights, and lo
Now silence is my muse.

Speak or don’t speak, hear or don’t hear,
It matters nothing now
In me there’s no one here
So silence be my now.