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
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