Milton's Curse
(On this last night insomnia did not allow me to sleep. The recurring image of the stone giants contained in Milton's poetry assaulted my mind. The way I found to 'take revenge' was to honor him with this poem).
again a broken night...
dawn of poisonous delusions
eyes that refuse rest
trying to keep fixed on something terse
body that denies brain command
maybe it's some kind of modern curse
something that prevents sleep from coming
as if there was a threshold
of old rocky sentries
equal to those created by Milton Hankins
in 'Old Sentry Standing Guard'
menacingly posted
between the concrete of wakefulness
and the dream and its shards
not sleeping would be wanting to tie life
and not let it grow old?
this is the meaning of the craft of writing
this is the power a poet can have
enable the creation of the imagery and the unreal
with such a strong force
able to turn the verb into truth
able to build a new reality
or find the fountain of eternal youth
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