In Search Of Helen Poem by Martin A. Ramos

Poet: how you must have bled for her, must
have wriggled and squirmed, spilling your blood
on the page as ink, biting the stale crust
of Misery, that bleak and breary bread.
And sleepless, through bitter birds of ache
you must have crawled, quivering with genius
that ate you like a worm and took your fate
on ashen wings, so white and pendulous.
But what shivers? what poisoned light makes blind
success? The eye of Death? The cat-like paws
of doom? The banshee sounds of wail and whine
that like clamps grip and tear with raven claws?
Was there escape, my friend, in drink and pen?
You wrote of her until you reached the end.