Details |
Franklin Pillsbury Poem
Imperial night, your proud face sheets
escarpements of history and space...
All your dark volume encloses wells of roses
wherein their liquid capes of blood
reflect the school of living things
Imperial night, eternity's black wine
flows before your indifferent throne
and petals all your shield of useless blooms,
before which love has faltered, with nets of cast-off remonstrance
Imperial night, time and all its freight of wasted joy
will to the scalene fires
and produce from their diagonal affections
those blank flowers of wordless creation
which adorn as they approach your disdainful sight
and petals all your shield of useless blooms,
before which love has faltered, with nets of cast-off remonstrance
Copyright © Franklin Pillsbury | Year Posted 2015
|