The Anthem of Decay - Parts 2 and 3
Death speeds across life’s startling plain
Wrapped in my Father’s cast-off anger;
It stalks through the bare winds
Which once claimed to sustain
And comes to lie at the door.
Why does it sit beyond the eye
Feeding on my youth’s abortions?
Do I need to ask?
It comes in answer to my cry,
My futile whimper raging
At the age which has ceased
And kept me a male Niobe
Even though my limbs have moved
To clothe my featurelessness
In the fashions of the day.
Deaf and dumb I
Have remained a black statement
Ignorant of the verb
That leads to the horrific clouds,
The gothic complications
To stand noosed about my neck.
I will surely die.
My memory lamed rests in grey
And the tortured alter wails,
Stands on its one stilted leg
And wills me to unbar the door,
Have my father buy my eyes,
Close them, even though they cry
That I am guilty
Of nothing but of being a man.
Time’s clock splinters.
The world is made of sand,
Crumbles at my touch,
Falls brittle a shirt
Shattered from my back,
And lies deaf at my feet,
Its grains mocking my meagre arms.
Will a letter rewind its spring?
Will a dynasty of words suffice
To push the seasons’ calendar
Beyond my myopic winter’s end?
A pale valedictory hand lifts,
Would have me shake my shoulders,
Wash the grains from my flesh
And board the worn out temporal boat.
There is no coldness in the oars;
The stars open in its wake –
My soul is silent, unastounded!
Could the crossing be so expressionless?
Let it go, let it go.
I trespass stupidly.