Demora, Goodbye
I.
I slept, and saw your face again, pale against the dark of dream..
Demora, how you haunt my tossing sleep anew!
“Unfaithful”…this you sigh across oblivion’s black stream
That flows like Lethe in my memory…
I left you, yes—but for that vampire-mistress, Poetry.
II.
She drains my youth and presses brief sanguine kisses on my soul,
And I write sonnets named for her, not you,
Although, Demora, you I rather should extol.
But I was won away by Poetry’s sweet lies,
While you, Demora, stifle sobs and martyred cries.
III.
I woke and saw your face again, bright across the fog of years,
Demora, all too late. Futility remains. All else is through.
For Poetry deserted me, months ago. She left no tears,
But hinted at a younger lover she desired.
Her love for me (like mine for you, Demora), now’s expired.
IV.
………………………
|