To One In Bedlam....

To One in Bedlam

Ernest Dowson

1867-1900

WITH delicate, mad hands, behind his sordid bars,
Surely he hath his posies, which they tear and twine;
Those scentless wisps of straw that, miserable, line
His strait, caged universe, whereat the dull world stares.
Pedant and pitiful. O, how his rapt gaze wars	5
With their stupidity! Know they what dreams divine
Lift his long, laughing reveries like enchanted wine,
And make his melancholy germane to the stars'?
O lamentable brother! if those pity thee,
Am I not fain of all thy lone eyes promise me;	10
Half a fool's kingdom, far from men who sow and reap,
All their days, vanity? Better then mortal flowers,
Thy moon-kissed roses seem: better than love or sleep,
The star-crowned solitude of thine oblivious hours. ******** Last Look collage poetry by Fomorton dirty tom lives a story of the doomed haunted escape drums throbbed mourned his increasing madness night I found him on the precipice I sat facing this extraordinary man, creator of such an endless stream of magical images endowed with dignity "I fell." he says "It was a big fall and I couldn't have gotten back up without your help. It was like going in a cave where you can't see the sun." I ran along side until I felt he didn't need me, then....I let go. immediately, I wanted to grab hold again but he was gone run like pheidipides He got away only I believe in happy endings we still live in its shadow How do you define eternity? Can you wait? ~c. MF 2007