Lamentation of the Muse for Everyman

“you who never believed / in the blue lotus feet of the Belovèd— / the only Word that writes a soul across Eternity.”

Image:  White Lotus in Blue

I lament dead ear, dim eye, dumb tongue
of the poet faint in your heart.
once on a night I would have yielded to your woo,
but like a stone you sat upon the vacant shore
waiting to glimpse moonlight dancers
who would write your starry thought on golden sand,
who would beam your fancy over the fecund sea.

I lament your blue death, your painted life
your cup of anguish drained and tossed away,
you fall against the knife of ignorance
staggering along the streets where fools
have no need of Truth.
and they do not see you.  not you.
not the poor fool I lament, poor muse that I am.

I lament your rotting for the garden.
when you died, I would have you gladly
put on a gossamer shield. but your circus pride
keeps you a spinning sense clown.
too many smoky tongues have licked your beauty
and the ash of your memory is scattered
over the desert of your suffering.

I lament with closed eyes, with a heaving breast
your open sorrow facing the icy wind of death.
but you sat like a stone.  heart like a stone.
Turn your face away from me now.  do not look
on my lamentation.  you who never believed
in the blue lotus feet of the Belovèd—
the only Word that writes a soul across Eternity.

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