I Won'T Cry
If I could have one spoonful
of your daily feast,
just one spoonful that my eyes
might shed their wanting hue,
I promise not to gloat
against the raging beast
that like a fire inside
consumes this empty tomb.
If I could have one taste
of the sweet grape you drink,
just one taste that I might know
the joy that stains your lips,
I promise not to dance
and give you cause to think
that drunkenness is what quivers
these feeble hips.
If I could spend one night
lying in the bed you keep,
just one night in silken sheets
and pillows plush with down,
I promise not to dream
of things I'll never reap
and tomorrow I’ll return
to my place on the ground.
Where hope transcends banality
of shallow breath,
where longing taunts the poverty
of daily toil,
I will resign my innocence
to certain death, and
I won’t cry as the victors
celebrate the spoils.
Copyright © Mateus Corvinus | Year Posted 2019
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