Speak not to me of somnolent embrace,
Your enmity infuses man's goodwill.
Speak not to me of your compelling grace.
So subtle is your stealth that you replace
Resolve with yielding to your voiceless still.
Speak not to me of somnolent embrace.
Man's armory, a broadblade and a mace,
To war against contagion's cunning skill.
Speak not to me of your compelling grace.
You tantalize with hope, then, end the chase,
To grind him on the wheel of death's gristmill.
Speak not to me of somnolent embrace.
You flail his flesh, deforce his worth, abase
His pride to feed your passion for the kill.
Speak not to me of your compelling grace.
He leaves his body bondage to its place,
The elements of earth, the grave's harsh chill.
Speak not to me of somnolent embrace.
Speak not to me of your compelling grace.
A Villanelle
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem