In Memory Leonard Cohen

The End of Love A secret grief rips apart all that was Slaves to the sexual caresses of time Stallions in black gallop gallantly in fields Of spring full wishes Thou seeith the birth of love Naked hopes surrounded by sweet perfumes Seduced by the gods or by demon fools Dancing, towards our own charades we sing Funerals consume autumn’s dead poets The gravestone cold and gray We hug it like a long lost friend One may see a battle lost The other a battle won In November we reminisce the soldier and singers too Didst you know I was a prostitute? Selling my soul to the hourglass of eternity Foolishly hoping to sleep upon her breast Shivering as others seem to fall right at deaths door Brimstone, black and rose The underbelly of St Laurent Youthful boasts as the old man in cane hobbles Generations sailed down the main Some seeking solace others finding fame Vaguely the recollections appear Visions inside dreams inside the darkest fears The end of love is near For the hand above is reaching As I float to the end of time Enchantment in the crypts Ravens dancing as they consume our mortal Hearts No smiles, no sleep Thou did knowest I’m surely certain The dance of death Only to be followed By a piper And angels violins Rags and shrouds, kiss them all goodbye Hallelujah In Memory of Leonard Cohen, a fellow Montrealer, 21 September 1934 – 10 November 2016.