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!