I will not drink this hemlock
No, good sirs and ladies,
I will not drink this hemlock
my rage is justifiable
and as my heart lies broken
my spirit moves on.
My thoughts lie as naked as
you were in the arms of Abandon
my heart as exposed as a sea-shell
on a beach frequented by constipated dogs
and incontinent drunkards.
No good sirs and ladies
I will not drink this hemlock
for it just sanitises my sordid love
my debased love that squalls
like a sea-gull infested wind.
I cannot think of the whore of Babylon
without tenderness
I cannot countenance her harlotry
but I love her all the same
from the depths of my bowels
to the height to which my heart leaps
at the sight of her,
with every stylised thought
that breathes antiquated virtues
of fidelity, love, death.
I love her with nothing I will be
but everything I was that made me what I am.
No, this hemlock is for lovers purer than I,
so good sirs and ladies
let this hemlock draw for a longer while,
leave it for greater lovers,
for lesser sinners.
This poem was written by Orpheus . on Feb 28, 2008.
Responses
2 comments so far.
Quite interesting... I chuckled at the thought of the dogs and drunks. ~PEACE OUT
It was supposed to be bitterly poignant, exposed and vulnerable yet subject to unspeakable functions others carry out as though nothing is amiss. Perhaps vulgar but certainly a notable simile.
I am sure there are perhaps better ways of stating the case of common vulerability and exposed wounds that others deal with as mindlessly as dogs and drunks, close friends who are well-meaning but clueless and bumbling fools who merely walk from one free drink to the next without regard for the reality of others.
Hemlock is such a beautiful image, Socrates drank it as a punishment for corrupting the youth with radical ideas and Keats wrote about it to describe a very real feeling I can only liken to feelings of abandonment's desolation.
I write about it as though there is no cure for a particular ailment, a love that went wrong, and even death cannot sort out some heartaches. Corpses may groan beyond their dust. Only living beyond the moment may bring some joy but abandoned to fate is perhaps the most real state of confrontation with a moment one will ever have.
I hope this explains the poem and its intent. I am glad it brought a smile even though the gravitas is sometimes leaden.