POSTED 04/01/2018 17:03
Art thou turned away at the door-
Thy pilgrim journey cursed with misadventure?
Doth goodness against thee shy like the mimosa?
Is thine head bowed that thou canst not name the stars?
Seest thou thine maker a foe?
Dost thou vengefully His breast stab with hateful sin?
Art thou at sea in thy tears without an oar?
Waitest thou for His voice to call thee out upon the waters with Him?
Thou passion flower, grace-forsaken
Smothered by sunshine, poisoned by rain
Thou whom no bee findeth worthy to weave a love poem
But the grasshoppers that seeketh thee in the garden.
This way knoweth the stars that shine above
And every man praised a demi-god on fair pages
That the lamb's story is greatest that escaped the pack of wolves
Knoweth thee not the path to Beulah is hades?
Thou art inexcusable O child of destiny!
Arise thou feeble soul and lit thy cold torch
O matador! There rages no bull in the ring but thee
Those voices in thine head I bid thee hush.
Behold now with glee as the princes drape thee with scarlet
Thy body full of scars before came gold in great talents
Remember no man ever on the summit was seen
That never in the vale had not sang the song of the fallen.
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