“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Friday, June 5, 2020
A duel purpose
I try to hold my balance on the
edge of this blade
whose hilt is in your firm grasp
and our history of incidental equipoise
clumsily
refuses to align-
would not any line
a muttering muse utter
true up to,
assist or desist us en guard
such strife-like loves twist on life
when the incision has been made
deeper, for us
while trying to maintain a sharp sense
of the point that tips
scales and armor
by design and intent
to inflict and to cradle conflict,
to penetrate and promptly
turn away-saying nothing
about the warm blood spilt
and simmering on the cool concrete
where we once made connection.
Painting by Jean-Léon Gérôme (1824-1904) 'Duel after a masquerade ball', c. 1859 in Public domain.
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