The Poet speaks of the Heart

it is addressed thusly:
A song.
it reads:
The blazing spear, or so I imagine it
Longinus' spear, that split
The side of God? Find not it odd
That it may have cut, each tendon's rut
A jagged and broad stroke in and up
The center most dear - the heart of God.

A sentimental eye, If he wishes he can
Imagine as I, all manner of fan-
fiction about this heart, of thorns
of it being torn apart, of the scorns
it bears? But who cares --
Sentimentality, you see
Of this kind begets apathy.

But we shall see quite rather instead
Another scene about this wounded head
For the symbol here, simple and clear
Is that the heart is already pierced.

The heart bears wounds they say
Mired by cares, made old by day
and day and who can say why
It heals not, but grows old
And does sometimes, rot?

It is perhaps because the center of a thing
Whose inner laws a conclusion bring
Who must have a space within
Quite large enough to then begin
To contain a certain stuff?

Infinite, indefinitely large
A kind of light, not white nor orange
Nor yellow or gold, not young or old
How many wounds would then suffice
What sort of contradictory advice
To make this kind of hole?

And to express the meaningfulness
Of a simple sign, seeming casual dress
Ares war it, and wore it too
But he is dead, like those few
Who inspired that particular line?

The spear is not, as it ought
Carried out, carried by aught
In this mark, but about
The circle it has come through;

This hole, this whole affair
May we say, has death's air
And man's! The male's way
But a palm spans its breadth;
Of love, of war, of death.

1 comment:

  1. Sentimentality ... of this kind begets apathy

    A great line.

    I like the mid-line rhymes, too. It gives a nice rhythm, like a back-beat.


Messages left under the doormat will be promptly decoded and a response may be issued.