Growth and Fears
I confess. I have come
to reckon death, as royalty.
To perish is to live. I
have learned to die freely.
Somewhere within a trance,
I came face to face with love.
She has devastated me unto life:
life became poetry, my balance.
Torpor, mother of anguish,
Have I graduated? Or am I
but a fantast—conquered by
a dream? Or am I tainted?
I drift. Lady Professor, winsome,
vibrant, so alive, I have touched
thee in spirit; but I suffer; for
desire, hath remained untouched.
My senses are whet; but I have
learned to suffer; I have learned
to do without. Rancor I have
not: within my desert storm.
I am burning aflame: thoughts
of lust. I am a sybarite: the last to
trust. I have become ambivalent.
I am no more than philosophy.
Cry upon God for me! Pray that
my wistful soul breaks free. Cry
upon God for me! Pray that God
beaks me free; for I am burning.
I am a building aflame; freefalling
into a sea of pain; but Cleopatra
is near, rejuvenation, unto tears.
I will again breathe; despite my fears.
Glenn Jr. Marchand
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