Let us go, love, you and I,
when daylight sleeps beneath the darkened sky
dead like cadavers awaiting trenchers spades;
let us travel those long untrodden paths
where fearless dare we go
where fouler winds still blow
the stench of death and carrion,
the lifeless corpses of all gone before,
these treacherous trails to nowhere known.
Nor shall we ask, “What lies ahead?”
Let us just go in peace instead
as foggy mists dance on our sleeves,
as gentle zephyrs toss dead leaves
across our path as flower children do
and prancing shadows follow, too —
mimicking our plodded course
to nowhere that we know for sure
what lies beyond our farthest reach,
what dangers lurk
what mysteries smirk
at both our ignorance and bliss.
There comes a time, there will be time
for us to wield the weaponry
combating dragons fierce,
to prick the bubbles, pierce
the gossamer webs we cannot see
that tie us up both you and me
upon this path to our eternity —
a time for you and time for me
to see ourselves for what we want to be.
There will be time to cautiously decide
how to respond to what we want to know
about each one, the faces that we meet,
and how they look at us with words replete:
“How odd they seem, those two who walk as one,”
and do I dare presume that they are right,
those blind that see less than
those see without their sight?
And are they finished when it seems they’re done
commiserating with their own diminished kind
with nothing worth the telling in their mind?
For I have seen them all and know them well,
and you know, too; you say, “Do tell.”
I have spent my life with them through dell and vale,
though mountains high and by the shore,
their voices screeching epitaphs that trail
away in echoes that are heard no more.
So now shall I pretend?
Shall I contend that they have worth
when I have seen so long they see not me
nor see the you I do, my partner by my side?
Shall I now deign decide to let them pass
unrecognized, or bid them fair adieu
for they do not exist
in just this world of me and you?
I have seen you by the light of day
and know (you never had to say)
how soft your arms, how light your hair,
how strong your fingers grip
my hand in yours, your curling lips
placed moistly where I dare not say
somewhere below my aching hips
that yearn for your volcanic flair.
So now shall I dare suck your breath,
absorb the radiance from every pore,
our intermingled sweat, dried up in death,
but living now and evermore
while we as one embark on this dark night,
tomorrow’s day, until eternal light?
And shall I lie with you in still repose
unhindered by the aches and pains
I feel in creaking joints and weakened bones
and still acknowledge you, my rose,
your thorns still pricking what remains
of my once sturdy self ? (We hear the groans
of anguish emanating from my limbs apart
though loving still with all my pounding heart.)
I am no treasure more than what I am —
no greater nor no less than what you see
and lived a life the fullest that I could
and often saw Fate’s fingers beckon me —
and indeed I feared as e’en I know you would
had you that light I saw burned through the night.
Therefore, dear love, I hold you, aged, tight
to my own ancient body, near,
and treasure you, my darling, dear,
my love, my troth, my life’s delight.
And if at my life’s end I dare to say,
“I have not lived — not lived at all,”
could you say, “Yes, my dear,” and lay
your hand on mine, and wrap a shawl
around us both in quiet, peaceful sleep,
and whisper prayers my soul shall keep
its love for you intact?
Can you in truth react
to my demise and comfort me
with love still deep?
Will you assure that’s not at all
what words I meant as you recall?
Will you in our rheumatic state
still call me Prince, or King,
some kind of royalty
though we both know that I am none
but just a pawn whose heart you’ve won?
My hair is thin, teeth sparse, and wrinkled skin
hangs loosely from once sturdy bone;
yet you still shine as bright, your glow within
still radiant, as light from stars or sun alone.
We both have trod this path to doom
yet lived to love each one along the way
watching sunsets, dawns, and nights between
with me your king and you my queen
and none to predispose to pave our way
or give us shelter in an empty room.
Then at the end by life’s abiding shore,
we see the worth and wrath of God about
and smile at the birds and trees,
the ceaseless waves of endless seas,
and Siren’s songs and eagles’ screams
and waken from eruptive dreams
and turn in peaceful death
to live this life no more.
Lorenzo
