Tradition

I am an immortal.
It is I! I, the Eliac;
 I, who hast slain dragons;
 I, who have taken quests that there mere summarization of which would drive the bravest of champions mad for the looking; I! I!
 Who have fought and defended the ends of the Earth!

Dost thou comprehend my fury?
For upon this very moment,

my cheeks are inflamed with passion!
Oh, the PASSION!
Is there no end?!
IS THERE NOT AN END TO THIS!
THIS HERE!

My curse!
Oh, my salvation...

How is this possible?
How is my reserve--
the reserve which for centuries I have thus borne--
shattered with a single act of mercy?
Of Love?


-And Yet:

Any Happiness I give him
will be stolen away
by the cost of living
in the reality
my dear God has thus decreed.

If tears were worries,
mine should dare fly
for oh! What sorrow
inwardly he has!

What I would do
to cease such pain!

Damn vulnerability!
For never have ye
been thrusted upon me
in such insistent manners

If the words
'Hence! Away!'
were not thust thieved
from language by
thou mortal, Shakespeare,
then they would dare be stolen thus!

Art dost not aware?
My station! My enemies!
My very existence
endangers his road!
It enrages centuries!
Centuries of TRADITION!

Oh, Salvation!
I beg of thee--
A thousand curses upon such love!

And yet:
How tenderly
I hold it to mine breast
What solitude,
 What songs;
Pour from my soul
the soul that stands
so thus enflamed!

Oh, may my
Sonnets
And May my limericks
Defend my weakened armour...


 

Reviews

[Jetta Zippora]

Powerful write! I like it, friend! Keep writing! :)