Glorious Virgins of Literature

This is for the holy virgins who are most likely

Fifteen, so filled with morning’s longing

 

A symmetry of spring & summer

Oh I know! I’ve read all your pen

 

Had to offer the world, and I like

To read your prince of everything lines

 

Your lyrics that beams as you glide

Breaking down the golden gates

 

This is for the dawn of your awakening

Which will soon turn, to ordinary cares

 

Your genius will be left behind

Like countless poets, who stopped writing

 

The kind of talent so usually deserted

But let me at least, blush in your rose garden

 

For a while longer, to fill my silken nets

The entirety of my vocal rage, fulfilled

 

In your writer’s block, cantos of coral and reeds

Where I am the bamboo watcher

 

The observing golden pleasure that crowds

The closer you get to the source

 

Of your literary liberty, which outshines

The mournful drama of your youthful years.