http://solloma.livejournal.com/224058.html
There is a beauty in your wine's dark stream,
In wholesome bread that's rising in the oven,
A woman that you see in anguished dreams
And joyously possess once waiting's over.
But how to stake a claim on sunsets' tint,
When silence's joined by an unearthly mercy,
The sky is slowly cooling, slightly pink -
And how can one possess immortal verses?
You cannot eat them, drink them up, or kiss.
You wring your hands - but moments disappear,
Since we are preordained to find the bliss,
And loose for good, and pass it, walking near.
Like an untried boy that forgets his games
And watches maidens bathing, burns with fire,
Though he has not known passion - all the same
He's tormented with an unnamed desire;
Like slimy creatures of the years gone by
Would feel the pain of growing wings and bellow
With helplessness, with never knowing why,
While ancient forests spread through mossy meadows;
Thus through the centuries - oh Father, when? -
The soul is screaming, flesh is burned with blisters
Under the thorough scalpel that is meant
To make a solemn pathway for a sixth sense.