…for your poetry fix today, where better to look than to this beautiful Irish lady?
To Turn Back and Descend the Stair
The tragedy of subtle dissipation,
is due, in part, to lack of real immagination.
Half-thoughts of you, and us, and we,
Had you played out my scene,
Leave me a tangled, empty, choking mess,
helplessly, violently vomiting out the rest.
Purged I lie, shaking in my bed,
but you, again, steal into my head.
Feebly I protest your indecision
It has become my prison.
Now I will in silence sit,
And hear the effervescent hiss
Of dissolution and goodnight,
Fast fade sparks too bright.
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