Of Caverns and Carnations
A haggard face that searched for the fountain
of rejuvenation, held forth carnations—
sweet scented—and the moonlight swept them in
to a shadow dance of light and colour.
Hung from sockets, the eyes of coal
wait for friendly sparks to light the soul:
that withered on the shore of midnight bliss,
that shivered at the mouth of the abyss.
The darkness drawing in the wounded weak,
clings life, those bland cold eyes afeared to speak;
that purple light, slight view, would disappear
as funeral flowers droop in feint despair.
The chrysalis shape — soft howls for freedom
from that alluring cavern, “You heathen.”
Throw your flowers at its complicit jaws,
find beauty in the hell of darkest flaws.
Oh, blistered body lying at the mouth—
Oh, scent sweet sun that flourishes thy health;
Those lumens of kindness, and dewy morn
of birdsong, that hide the darkness of dawn.
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