The Spire
What sights on stricken cliff arrive?
On stormy feasts do visions thrive
With tastes of lust and vanished days.
The blessed eye this scene surveys.
High promontories gird the fear
Of fortunes passed and burdens dear.
The waves erode the withered stone
In thrall to winds of lonely moan.
Upon these seas did passion ride
In times concealed by fog and pride.
Those currents carried once the care
Of urge unbound and fury bare.
No logic would their pull deny;
No love’s embrace matched that of sky.
No lips could kiss with hope to win
Against the mists that graced the skin
With sure caress and promised fate
Of glories vast and journeys great.
No signs persist of broken vow;
That jealous call’s deserted now.
Bereft is breast of bold intent.
The limb is thus to languor sent.
No fresh horizons shall it grasp.
No ear shall note the ocean’s rasp
That rants with verve to greet the rise
Of morning’s light in eager cries.
No march shall meet that crawling tide
With hastened step and easy stride.
That ancient rage shall linger here
With sorrow no monsoon could steer.
It places not its foot before
The orchid breach that did implore
The soul to drift in sunken past.
Too swiftly were those yearnings cast
To depths no endless gaze could break.
No wonderment attends in wake
To wander through those turquoise thrones.
Those waters that had gladly flown
Desire to its destined port
Rescind the summons of their court.
No stars can rouse this form from rest.
No ventures beckon or invest
Their powers on a wreck so still.
No stubborn force of former will
Survives to show its fallen truth
Or exercise a moment’s ruth.
No exile strength or vacant might
Can orchestrate a futile fight.
Submerged in dread and anguish old,
Those erstwhile fires fade to cold.
No movement do these flames ignite;
They stir the silent squalls of spite.
In seething fits of swollen gale
Mix haunting songs of torrents pale
With years that flash their horrid glow
And frigid thoughts of craven woe.
Naught drives this husk to seek the sun.
In frozen flow dull tempers run.
No thaw ascends through hoary bone.
No motions praise the blue unknown.
No prayers from arid throat escape
To give some wish its crooked shape.
No fluid tune revives the veins.
No effort’s spent to bear the strains
Of melodies that crossed the air.
No blossoms of that latent flare
Appear to spark the darkened brow
That vanquished dreams would disavow.
All’s covered with a wintry sheen
That shimmers with what might have been.
No flutterings beneath that frost
Remain to mourn ambitions lost.
This armour keeps its charge inside.
That dormant thirst can only hide.
No chords of courage ever ring.
No hungers hold their welcome sting.
The rain-slaked rocks provide the stage,
But they can’t dare to match the cage
That ages unavenged have built
From lead and iron forged from guilt.
Keep not this idle watch alive.
Just let that final sight arrive!