Lady mine, by the gods! you are the Sun of my present day;

And the maternal Moon of my bereaved night;

By whose wondrous incandescent light

I explore the earth, as do potters clay.

One eye is the Sun, the other one the Moon,

And thus both brought shut, I am put outright blind;

Gelded impotent, like one with glory days far behind –

Who boasts past attainments now, then laments again soon.

See what ruins you cause when yet you look away,

Like the mortal brood of Somali violence,

Blighting the place, and my world, with famishments and pestilence –

And putting me with my self at a deadly fray.

Daily from these ruins I rise in my rent world,

And on my remains weep a hapless flood!


81 Total Views 1 Views Today

By Sydney Chesterfield on May 14, 2016 · Posted in Letters To Shindara by E.R. Chesterfield, Literary, Poetry, Trends

Sorry, comments are closed on this post.