David McLansky

Freshman - 748 Points (5/24/1944 / New York City)

Ironic Nights


Living in the bubble of her hate
I twist about incredulous of my Fate;
I, who fed on love like breathing air,
Should live imprisoned in this Ogress' lair;

I, who counted sweetest all things gentle:
Refinement, wit, and goodness elemental,
Savoring all that taste and grace do bring,
Should live within this coarse and vulgar ring;

I, a creaturre bred for temperate weather,
Delighted by the softest feeling pleasure,
Confounded by a hate that poisons souls;
Enduring through the nights as they unfold.

Submitted: Monday, May 12, 2014
Edited: Monday, May 12, 2014

Topic of this poem: love


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Poet's Notes about The Poem

From Old Adam in his Eden

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