Upon Having Much Thought but Nowhere to Put it
Upon
Having Much Thought But Nowhere to Put it
I
Words
are worthless when actions assay
To
contradict their foolish play.
Your
tongue may trip and slip and soar
And
flatter more than e’er before
But
no, I’ll know what’s in your mind
Based
on your deeds. And there I find
A
thousand cries against your please
A
million voices say “And
these
Are
nothing more than empty prate!”
You’ll
look and find you are too late.
II
The
noose is bloody and the hand,
That
looses trap-door where there stand
The
hunching forms of men condemned,
Is
claw-like, cruel and set to rend.
Three,
two, one and down they fall
The
ropes twang taught and they are all
Broken-necked
or thrashing wild
Until
at last their throes are stilled.
Still,
so still, that last, the crow
Does
pluck their eyes a day from now.
III
Black
feathers, green feathers, red feathers, white
Gray
down and brown down and candlelight.
Up
in her tower the princess is sewing
Tiny,
bright stitches faithfully going
Daintily
on their long, narrow feet
Until
the circle is round and complete.
Scissors
and thimbles and thread all upon
The
small sewing table, lift up and set down
One
after the other, each piece has its use
And
all depends on what the princess will choose.
IV
Mantel-piece,
tell me, what have you in dust
That
makes all your standing dissuade all your rust?
Tell
me, good candle-stick, do you p’rhaps miss
The
hot glowing touch of a wax-taper’s kiss?
And,
oh, sweet portrait of maiden so fair
That
stands gathering dust over there
Your
hues were once rosy – once people did gaze
Upon
your bright canvas and it’s gentle face.
Oh,
sad, lost room where no one lives more
Do
you wish things were now as ‘twere before?
V
Time’s
a fickle, rascally thing
First
faster than thought on an eagle’s wing
Then
slower than heart-beats that pace to the grave.
What
is the worth when time we would save?
Fate’s
even worse – so choosy and harmful
Tricking
us mortals into giving armfuls
Of
gold and of pleasure and peace for a chance
To
merit Fate’s smile, or at least a glance.
Time
and Fate - comrades to steal the poor soul
Of
every man who has good life and full.
VI
Children
are blessings when they have control
And
lacking, the clamor takes more than its toll
In
wrinkles and gray hairs, in dull, saddened eyes.
Oh
why do the women now so strongly prize
The
thought of some children and hope for the same?
Really,
the world must be quite insane.
But
no, that’s just me, as upward you’ll look
And
tell me, once you’ve let your eye be your cook,
That
I have prate longly enough for a day
And
with that, I sigh and down my pen lay.
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Although it can seem scattered, this is one of my favorite poems that you have ever written!!! It is so rich and raw and powerful, and I hope you write more like it in the future :D
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