Home » Poems » John Mudge » My Venus Died

My Venus Died

I.

The night hangs heavy in this room.
Only dead-folk live here now,
Except me: my eye-fires burn - 
Angers, regrets, remorses turn

Lazy circles, dancing silent
In bodies of these dead-folk
They have stolen.  What right have they?
I – I bid them go; they stay.

II.

There’s nothing for it, nothing for
This illness – no nostrum, potion, nor salve,
Magic nor science – all in vain.
Shall anything heal this heart-made blain?

Yet who is ill?  Not I – it’s them!
These dancing bodies – no part of me.
Not even mine.  “I divorce thee! - 
Ah, ah, it’s no use – impotent fury.

Am I mad?  A moonbeam splashes
Across the sill, vaguely lighting
My room, in which I am alone.

III.

‘Tis the curse of the godless age:
My Venus lies dead, impaled
On my floor, washed in moon-light.
The dead-folk speared her, then took flight.

We shared the moon-lit solitude,
My dead Venus and I, her wound
Yet fresh and bleeding.  The silver spear
Pierced her heart.  I draw her near.

Night-terrors must I face again.
Alone now.
Alas – how?

griefheartbreaklost loveromanticism

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