deepundergroundpoetry.com
Suffering's Lyre
Can there be happiness inside
anything but loneliness
with one idealised vision -
Matilda, Beatrice, even a childhood pet?
Freed from consternation by
a burning of the soul
on Heaven's great, refined pyre,
so what remains is loveliness
unfatigued by time, or suffering's lyre,
which plays always on earth...
The trunks and leaves are lit by one
serene and understanding sun,
followed by night's caressing of the trees
and streams, that is not seen
in city nights, or days,
where I sit now,
to dream of walking in Eden
beyond this place where beauty lies
with melancholia.
Where suffering's lyre
complicates all holiness.
anything but loneliness
with one idealised vision -
Matilda, Beatrice, even a childhood pet?
Freed from consternation by
a burning of the soul
on Heaven's great, refined pyre,
so what remains is loveliness
unfatigued by time, or suffering's lyre,
which plays always on earth...
The trunks and leaves are lit by one
serene and understanding sun,
followed by night's caressing of the trees
and streams, that is not seen
in city nights, or days,
where I sit now,
to dream of walking in Eden
beyond this place where beauty lies
with melancholia.
Where suffering's lyre
complicates all holiness.
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