Sunday, August 31, 2014

To A Dead Rival

Close in my arms,
His lips upon my lips,
Crying my name,
He forgets you.

Where is your power then,
a pallid wraith whom once he loved so well?
His smiles are mine, his frowns,
His jealousies, and secret, tender words.

Where are the vows he made to you?
Yet when the world grows dark,
And when his faith in everything is faint,
I cannot comfort him.

He goes apart, and prays,
And sometimes says your name.
And in a while,
He finds his lost belief again.

And does not hear me when I speak.
Until the moment passes.
Then strength to live renewed,
And gay once more, he comes to me,
And laughs, and holds me close;
But will not, that day, say he loves with all his heart.

This too short span of life
That's left us, is for me:
I am his earthly goddess, I, his love.
Yet in that terrifying Judgment Day,
You'll meet him at the Gate
He'll sob your name, and kneel to you.
And if you ask him, "What of her?" He'll answer, "Just a friend
Who made the journey brighter, dear, no more."

And you will understand, and smile,
And thank me for my' kindness,
And take him home with you. Ah, what a power is yours, that dead,
A wan, pale ghost of loveliness that was,
You rule him even now with charms more potent
Than I, whose flesh is warm and yielding, ever will possess!
You are the winner. He takes his prayers to you,
So do I come, a supplicant:

Pity me! Don't haunt him so
These few short years!


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