In the Sullen Night
I know the lovers' moan
For I too have moaned, a lover, too;
Then, the bell tolls for you.
And the foghorn, somewhere, groans.
Life forgiven is nothing,
Our actions move mountains
Of infinitesimal concatenations.
It is a portentous paternity;
It is a monstrous sorority.
From what I know
Of the moments of human
Bondage, indulgence and craving,
All forms of which pervade,
All craving invades, ant-like,
Eating up whole countrysides.
I am the speaker who chides you,
And then I hide in my den,
Hide from you:
And is hated too.
I accept my fate with cunningness and fear,
Because even your rippled words of hate
Are dear to me.
Stan Petrovich's Other Poems
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