~ Rich Roach ~

Shadow of Spring


I hurl my sunless heart into the spring,
impale myself upon each waking thorn,
consuming every sharp, discordant sting
of plenitude yet writhing on the morn;
though heaven stoop, I cannot breathe
the rousing air,
nor stare
at tinseled falsities to wreathe
myself a silken crown
of seasoned bliss -
nay, I would rather drown
in dark despair
than in a gilded kiss.

From what mind-boggling height will heaven bend
its arsenal of breeding? Behold, the sky
unfolds fine clouds: must I therefore extend
my hand to legion glories scudding by?
or hang each sylvan scene upon my heart?
No - I cannot.
I blot
detested green from every part,
and thrust myself inside
this cornerstone,
failing at last to hide
from who I am, this knot
of deadened flesh - alone.



© Copyright 2003 Rich Roach


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