Wisdom's Lament

Lay me where the cleft moons rise

Script lay of love in language high

Drawn fluted rune a verse devise

Writ poet's tongue to shallow'd sky,

Till bolder comes the rise and call

Seductress tempered feral sound

Birth chanting chorus begs the fall

A dancers leap lands lover found.

In candled ways cold days rewarm

Fire buried wick flame froth'd a foam,

Sans pain congeals conjoined form

Mold mate of man to forge a home

Entrain'd in woman's begging moan

Plea echoed heart to loins to bone.

Nah, can't happen, don't be a damn fool. You're mature, pragmatic, cynical, immune… you know better than that, you know what dreams like that do to the rest of your life, you know...

She was never more than a dream image anyway,

Some sweet fiction born of base biological urges

According to those sterilize the world in morality.

A man can't lift the weight of a crown off a dreams head,

Lift the heavy mantle of expectations off her shoulders,

Grant her seventy two hours as woman instead of dream,

One hour for every year accorded the life of man

To make love to her, with her, laugh and play,

Set a symphony of delights in the nerves of her body,

Hold her warm while she sleeps, dry her tears,

Give back to her a bit of what she gave so many

Before she has to put that damn crown back on

And go back to being the Queen of Dreams,

Safe sanctuary for the lonely and the displaced…

I won't miss her, not at all.

Yea, right.           

If you believe that?     

Likely you'll believe anything.

For Alex, with love.