Friday, April 29, 2011

To Wordsworth

Wordsworth, let me borrow thy soul for a while
And feel what you felt in the depths of your existence
Love and lament the miserable man
And breathe the melancholy of that spirit
The one that haunts your eternal words
Walk on the clouds of your dreams divine
Drink from the streams of joyous waters sweet
Bleed for the sake of a dying humanity
And walk on the scorching roads with naked feet
Listen to the song of a young orange morn
And profess holy love to the whispering breeze
Watch the vagrants with faces forlorn
Send their sons to the towns of sleaze
For early in time your man upright
Was seduced by wretched greed
And this union diseased with blight
Wrath lies and lust did breed
In mourning sat  thy faithful heart
And for redemption prayed aloud
Profaned it was by the poisonous dart
With selfishness thus beast was endowed
Thank the heavens for your form is dead
It can see these grievous sights no more
Thank the gods that thy grave is thy bed
For thy home is stained with blood and gore
You once walked on these plains and hills
With worthy companions in Dorothy, Coleridge and pen
And travelled upon the oceanic frills
Sketching in ink the deeds of men
You sat once by a path forsaken
And sighed beside the empty howling wind
And no matter how you tried to waken
Man’s sleeping soul to darkness pinned
And then resigning to that faithless fate
Retired thyself to the wishes of time
And left in breath short through the unguarded gate
The prelude survives thee, a wondrous rhyme.
In thy being nature found her voice
And spake of her love to the once sacred man
But in vices now he only seeks to rejoice
And ended the affair before it began….

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