Sonnet de la semaine pour ne pas lire
Apr. 30th, 2007 04:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fr_defenestratoNow I am old. I'll soon be older still;
Sometime thereafter, old and dead. My years
Are but a moment. Fortunes good and ill
Occur, and then do not; and all my fears
Are one: the goblin scratching at my door
When I was five now scratches at my hide
Through dark and sleepless nights. How many more
Such nights before he claws his way inside?
As evidence of age accumulates,
My throbbing head no longer understands
Hallucinatory youth, heterodox:
That outside elms a spoon-tree world awaits
To be unraveled like a puzzle box
By curious and just-awakened hands.
Superfluous note: I wrote the last three lines above circa 23 years ago whilst whiling away the last few hours of an early acid trip (my third?), in the hours toward dawn, on Main Street, Newark, Delaware. This was intended as the opening of an acid-hippie-hopeful life-is-beautiful kinda poem. I like its employ here because I do not quite negate it... I just don't quite get it anymore. The cited spoon-tree was in the empty field next to Combustible Gardens Apts. and it really was a great tree to curl up in and take a nap.
Sometime thereafter, old and dead. My years
Are but a moment. Fortunes good and ill
Occur, and then do not; and all my fears
Are one: the goblin scratching at my door
When I was five now scratches at my hide
Through dark and sleepless nights. How many more
Such nights before he claws his way inside?
As evidence of age accumulates,
My throbbing head no longer understands
Hallucinatory youth, heterodox:
That outside elms a spoon-tree world awaits
To be unraveled like a puzzle box
By curious and just-awakened hands.
Superfluous note: I wrote the last three lines above circa 23 years ago whilst whiling away the last few hours of an early acid trip (my third?), in the hours toward dawn, on Main Street, Newark, Delaware. This was intended as the opening of an acid-hippie-hopeful life-is-beautiful kinda poem. I like its employ here because I do not quite negate it... I just don't quite get it anymore. The cited spoon-tree was in the empty field next to Combustible Gardens Apts. and it really was a great tree to curl up in and take a nap.
