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The Poetry of David Lyne-Gordon...
DEATH
Sitting here in an atmosphere of classic tempo,
Of strings, drums and brass beating a retreat,
My symphonic life, like the eternal oceans, is in limbo,
Until I finally make my sacrifice at your feet.
Wondrous scenarios and Shakespearean passion plays,
That crusade quality of love, honour and obedience,
Fill the wistfully long, solemn, wintry days,
I beg your sympathies, give my wishes credence.
Moonlight brightness, starlike, shooting across the universe,
Is the indeterminate love of other suitors.
Let our two hearts intermingle and converse,
And excommunicate all those who are doubters.
The pleasures of two are immeasurable against time,
Come, save this decomposing brain from the ravages of tyranny.
As the concentration camp body is consumed with lime,
Replace this last Republic by immortal Monarchy.
When, in deepest despair, the wrists of life are slashed,
And the essence of life dribbles back to Mother Earth,
The Samaritan's saving conquests, as oil and water are flashed,
To incinerate all hopes and dreads of impending death.
Immobile, in a state of dread Egyptian mummification,
Pressed out by hordes of laughing populace ranting,
Condemned by Pope and Archdeacon of the Devil to excommunication,
Into a wilderness of waterless desert panting.
Condemned to years of horrible incandescent suffering,
Under torture and drowned by the screams of fanatical worship,
The God of Life looked, pored and parted all my nerves,
Forward the schemes of Frankenstinian monstrosity making.
Heartless, quivering, scorning, beating until finally you change your mind.
You are not what you thought but something less than dirt,
Destined for the refuse tip of life's emerging nations.
Stinking seas wherefrom all life once triumphantly rose, breathing God's air,
And worshipping he who died nailed by the righteous to his own symbol.
The crux of all life's deaths and the wilting lives of man and beast,
For ever and always praising this fad that will one day pass,
And enter, the true defender of mankind, into the eternal, golden palace of Life.
Death!
The only pure form to who man should swear obedience.
David Lyne-Gordon
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