Tuesday, 3 May 2016

Pain

Stripped of pride, vanity and of joy,
She came to you in search of why
Little God, do you laugh at her
Unclothed desire, wasted spur?
Seek her hand for thereins lie
Seasons, winds and kites to fly 
Stark naked she walks around
Clothes, ornaments, words just surround 
And warp sacred spaces in between  
Across the temple pond in a silent ravine
She sang hoary arcane hymns to invoke
Your lost pain, lost pleasure, heart broke 
But you little God, you stole her clothes again 
Sent wild forest flowers of surruptious gain
But she remains naked, stripped of pain. 




No comments: