Futile -- Poetry With Vision

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Date Posted: 12:39:35 04/11/01 Wed
Author: William Poe
Subject: Futile

I know this
To be an effort of
Futility,
But will you
Bear with me for
These few meager moments?
It is a gesture
To stir your mind
And, possibly, change
Your heart; as it is,
This mixture of
Letters and spaces
Are born of mine.
These eyes I brush
With your own fingers
Are singed with the fires
Of Rage's blasting furnaces
And drowned in
Melancholy's River;
For you, they suffer
Neither infernal torment,
But glow with the
Radiance of Gaea's
Own son.
These lips your
Dactyl gems caress
So oft' have spoken,
Nay, bellowed, ill
Of the world and
All its "niceties,"
But remain crippled
And unable to voice
The very message
They are most wont
To vocalize, that
Dangles from their
Fleshy precipice.
These arms upon which
Your soft appendage rests
Would readily separate
A man from his breath
And render his limbs
Useless and vacant,
But remain gentle
For the desire of
A lover's embrace.
And, now, your hand's
Steady pilgrimage
Dies here, on my heart;
Probably the most ill
Of all my sickened parts
For it has been
Used,
Abused,
Flogged,
Manacled,
And deserted
In times past,
But still live on
In the vain hope
This spurred speech in not
Futile.

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Replies:

re: Futile -- spw, 21:42:40 04/11/01 Wed
- Re: re: Futile -- William, 12:19:03 04/12/01 Thu
  - Re: re: Futile -- spw, 03:26:19 04/15/01 Sun
Re: Futile -- Startime, 14:24:18 04/12/01 Thu