Ivey Walker 1887-1916

Ivey Walker 1887-1916 Verily, verily, my friends! You are all dead now. So I can speak candidly. I found out, When my ripe red rose bloom Opened early, mysteriously, Wantonly, as with all crazed flowers, Drunk with the wine of forbidden delights. I found out, There is no real meaning in life. Except in the insatiable passions Of the hopelessly human heart. Money. Politics. Education. Friendships, Status. Travels. Books read. Culture. Faith. All these diversions pale in comparison, To the wanton gazes and gropings Of erotic desire, Of euphoric fleshy meshings, Of excited intense arousals, Behind and decidedly beneath The lacy curtains of magical meetings, In the dark! Verily, verily, my friends! You are all dead now, So allow me to ask you, What is the point of one more step forward in life, Forward, into the uncertain destined avenues of the future, If desire and its attendant dances, Are not experienced and realized? I was seventeen in 1904, When my trembling hand found the accosting arm Of one Roscoe Settle. Ravished as a rose bloom by thorns, He guided me here and there, To the amazing gardens of senses and screams, And with no regrets or guilt, I found God that evening, In the stone temples of tender touches, And deathless sensations. Verily, verily, my friends, I indeed found out, The real meaning of life, I found it in the sweaty secret embraces, Of one Roscoe Settle!