deepundergroundpoetry.com
Thy Voice
Thy voice--so clear inside my ears
Was Mozart's violin:
The music of the spheres
That bound my soul within.
The light thou brought
Cleared all my thought
So all things dead
With my darkness fled
In those, my happiest years.
Before, in all my days
The garden was inviting
As I walked reciting
Each epitaph's wise, dark poem
And the gloom of the walkways
Guided specters to their home.
Sadness--it could not touch my "art,"
So soft thy hand upon my heart.
Then shrouded grim
(Unspeakable Him)
Swept thee away
And now every day
I sorrow and cry
Below the happier sky:
Happier it can hold
A soul of pure gold
Such as thine to its core
While my tears a torrent outpour.
Now, in all my days,
The garden is inviting
While I walk along reciting
Each epitaph's wise, dark poem
And the gloom in the black walkways
Guides the specters to their home.
Was Mozart's violin:
The music of the spheres
That bound my soul within.
The light thou brought
Cleared all my thought
So all things dead
With my darkness fled
In those, my happiest years.
Before, in all my days
The garden was inviting
As I walked reciting
Each epitaph's wise, dark poem
And the gloom of the walkways
Guided specters to their home.
Sadness--it could not touch my "art,"
So soft thy hand upon my heart.
Then shrouded grim
(Unspeakable Him)
Swept thee away
And now every day
I sorrow and cry
Below the happier sky:
Happier it can hold
A soul of pure gold
Such as thine to its core
While my tears a torrent outpour.
Now, in all my days,
The garden is inviting
While I walk along reciting
Each epitaph's wise, dark poem
And the gloom in the black walkways
Guides the specters to their home.
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