Aug 272011
 

Now I am old
In body and bone
My stone muse sings
Proud and alone.

But when I was young
My muses stood
Medusa-struck
And drained of blood.

Neither face nor body danced
On the barren grass
Of the white seashore,
All their stony terror glued in a glance.

All that I had planned
And placed apart
In the sacred mysteries of the heart
Sunk like a stone in the lost sea.

All the beautiful pride of her speech
That had seemed, so far above death was it flung,
The haughty original of chance
Closed in dark colloquy and muddied breath.

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