The Last Lover of Heroes

Squalid were those days of thuggish delight When the fat land's spirit the small Goths stole. Joy was a thirst slaked, forever a night, In that corpulent desert of mean soul. But pastel virtue slowly starves a man To walking death lest spurred by hunger's throes. Standing apart I shunned the dead hearts' Pan And found you, the last lover of heroes. Of fleshy spirit living colors bold You nourished me on the ripe joys to come When truth and beauty are wrenched from lust's scold And repatriated to love's kingdom. Now together gray at time's ragged edge With your love to the morrow I still pledge.