Wednesday, April 29, 2009

THE ROSE

THE ROSE

Upon the grave the briar lies
My husband's grave, whose stone surprise
is weighty, ponderous, and new.
I visit perhaps one day in two.
A thing I never thought I'd do.

Upon the grave the briar lies
I do not – or did not surmise
That I could find in a mere place
A hand’s touch or re-glimpsed face
My love I thought was past replace.

Upon the grave the briar lies
Its blossom’s buzzing now with flies
Whose buzzing sounds a kind of sense
Of empty, yearning eloquence
A yawning void, agap, immense.

Upon the grave the briar lies.
“In death there is no lover’s ties.
No fond caress, no touch, no life,
No husband now, and hence no wife,
No heaven’s host, no hell’s vast strife.”

Upon the grave the briar lies.
“Death’s eyes are knitted up with styes.
No sights are seen, no thoughts enact,
The brain is mute, sight: cataract,
An endless nothing, brute as fact.”

Upon the grave the briar lies
“No angels sing, above the skies.
And even that exultant worm
Devours too weakly to affirm
That blank eternity has its term.”

Upon the grave the briar lies.
IT LIES
IT LIES
I SAY
IT LIES!!!!


Simon BJ, from an idea by Mark Michalowski

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