A Poem For You
This is a poem for you.
You can accept it if you wish,
Or let it rise away in a fervent
Wind, forgotten and inconsequential.
But it is yours no matter what.
I walk in the Chinese garden
At midnight, the serious moon lacquered,
Thinking of you in Abbey Wood forgetting.
Perhaps I am not the only one.
I know nothing for sure, only
The iridescent light of your eyes
Chronicled in St. Augustine,
Your face mirroring Munch's The Cry
As I look on, as I look away,
As I tremble for you.
Whatever has happened?
Where are the promises we made?
I could not say: you could not say.
And at the moment only one thing's certain:
History is on everyone's side... or no one's
Which is the same thing.
If you've any comments on
this poem, John
Cornwall would be pleased to hear from you.