Lorenzo Costigliolo

(Western Hemisphere)

Ode to the Senses; a Sense of Prayer


When first I lost my sight,
my universe went dark obscure
blackest pitch of night
lit by dim memories
that blazed impressions
clearer than with lustrous light
though greater loss
not seeing you
than losing sight of all my world
and all the things you do.

When hearing left me deaf, a stone,
no worldly sound
my silent macrocosm locked inside
tinnitus my companion tone
quiet footsteps on the ground
your voice a memory that died
a quiet death,
though greater loss
not hearing you
the whispered words that say 'It's you.'

When odors, taste conjointly leave
no clear distinction, sour, sweet,
methane gas like roasted meat -
alas, my heart and soul both grieve
no more your breath, your scent unique
will capture me within their mist
no longer tasting savored lips
though greater loss
not sharing both for what we are,
the I of we, the you with me.

When sense of touch is likewise gone,
when searing flesh and breaking bone
can feel no pain, nor joy again
of holding, touching, soft and smooth
not knowing where your fingers roam,
your hands upon my anxious face,
your arms in warmest tight embrace,
the greater loss
not feeling that ecstatic thrill
we felt together but no longer will.

Though all these senses still remain,
how great the loss I shall retain
if you no longer see
the loving lass in me
nor hear my words of dire need,
nor feel each year the growing seed
nor taste the juices of my fruit
and of my flowered scent stay mute -
then shall you say you saw love die
from senselessness of you; - And I,

how great the loss that you shall reap
if I am blind from tears I weep
and deaf to all your childish pleas
and please you not on bended knees
as oft we did in days of yore,
nor touch you where I did before,
and use my lips, not kiss, but speak -
to you too blind, too deaf, too weak
to feel, too dumb to recognize the sign
that love has left your heart, and mine.

Let's promise, love, while we have time
our senses all - while still complete -
to live by Carpe Diem
nunc et in hora mortis nostris - Amen!
now, and in the hour of our death -
a prayer to God, or any deities above
who can and will preserve our love.

Submitted: Friday, October 23, 2009

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Comments about this poem (Ode to the Senses; a Sense of Prayer by Lorenzo Costigliolo )

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  • Patti Masterman (10/31/2009 2:29:00 PM)

    This is excruciatingly painful and tender- and major depressive. All of which means
    it speaks to my soul particularly well. Such empathic lines, I would someday hope to write. (Report) Reply

Read all 2 comments »

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