A poet longs for his to be
A love as strong as death - we crave
A Song of Songs, of jealousy
Unyielding as the grave -
Desire love for love's sake only,
Full of praise, kisses, tears and blame,
For love's music, sad or lively,
Is music all the same...
The words are tired, old - worship-worn
As chapel steps; an archaic
Grammar of devices, its sworn
Poetry prosaic,
Parroted feeling. Let them be
Born anew, learn to speak my heart's
Abundance quite innocently,
With the childish arts
Chagall and Picasso learned; all free and new,
Without perspective - nothing rife
With irony...let loving you
Be all I know of life.
17/06/09
Longer poem than the last one I read by you, but not one word was wasted and it seams that you know how to get your point across. Both poems get a ten.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow, this is really brilliantly done, very heartfull