Rue

Sometimes, there comes a desire to unmake oneself, to drown oneself in oblivion. Even as I strike out in defiance against the wicked sentiment, I etch its mark in verse.

Were that I could plunge unborn
To dream in depthless velvet sea
And never find my silver dawn
Till I'm no longer me

Were that dreams of molten gray
Would smother light and wind and tree
And excruciating life decay
To wakeless mercury

For where the heart of birds do sing
My listless fingers cannot rake
Thralled my soul, that wishful thing
Ripples in the lake

Faint in sight then fainter still
Ablaze in me my heart's deep test
To shreds, to ash, my useless will
Seeking hopeless rest

From things that are, and ought, and be
Against my shadowed soul, doth feel
As searing lance, I can't shake free
The horror of the real


...


So short my slumber, so long the night
Of wakeful ice that seeps your trace
Of all things radiant, good, and bright
That bear your loved face

Were that I could find you there
Risen from the shining lie
Sin-worn hand in fingers fair
Before my soul die