Pining And every day a pining day
The laurel trees are cut
That which remains is languishing
The evergreens are surrounded by rot
I shan’t go into the woods today
I do not claim the pines
The blossoms which bore my wishes are dead
That stinking mulch was mine It’s not a beauty in traditional sense
That one would venture to see
Growing so tall in such dark places
Such scant sunlight to succor thee
But that’s the manna of the pines
Mourning light and acid rain
Thorny undertones and secret hearts
Phrases which tear down and then sustain
I dreamt I saw my laurel trees
Whose fruitful lives had been abridged
Severed by that jealous one
She never took kindly to legend In place of my blossoms, pines sprung awake
Holding sanguinary grip on my hallowed ground
Lamentations echo round the dark wardens
Mixing both keeling and pleasure sounds
For I know what was there and I see what is now
I was helpless as my garden was drowned
As the putrid earth breathes out such fell flora
I resign my fight, listlessly lay back ignore it
Bereft of love, left in desolation
Pining is my new occupation
Euphemism Campus Box 4240 Illinois State University, Normal, IL 61790-4240 |