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Grant Olmstead 1868 - 1899

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Grant Olmstead 1868 - 1899

Grant Olmstead

1868 – 1899


Just once.
Just one single sublime moment of love 
Is all I ever desired. 
All I ever reasonably wanted in life!
Was I not a man with a river of passion 
Raging through me, raging with rushing torrents
Rushing madly through the deepest gorges 
Of my manly soul?
Was I not a human being with gazing probing eyes 
Cursed with blinding sight,
Cursed with confounding appetites for flesh 
And incredible intimacies in the dark, 
Intimacies even the gods of Olympus had access to 
Tons of minutes ago?
And so I ask: What good is a windmill without the wind?
What good is a man’s tongue without words to utter
Words of deep intense longings
To the faces of patient pulchritude?
What good are a man’s prayers to a dead god
In an empty universe?
Now I’m here in Clark Cemetery,
Still thirsting for one woman’s touch,
One woman’s thrilling embrace!
Instead, I am tasting the kisses of a thousand worms
Here in the sheets of my bed of death.
Amen to lost love!

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