Seventeen Years Old

Seventeen Years Old


Beauty’s finest ecstasy
has restraint.
Some lovely woman,
Softer, disciplined,
Would soon have stood in strength
A holy saint
Forbearing to offend,
Choosing if to frown or smile
And like a city in her walls
the while.


There is a dream – a song, faintly sung
A haunted bellfry where a bell was once rung
The ancient word of a lost tongue.

Deep in the silence, deeper – where
Fullness envelops, quiet and rare,
The purified soul and God only there –

Then in the stillness, the dream is there, too.
The song is sung clearly, the bell rings anew
The Word speaks again – and he speaks true.


Don’t look at me –
Who wants to look at an idiot?
You don’t even know I’m here, right?
(Hide hide hide hide hide…)

Look at me –
I am graceful!
The dark is a beautiful clothing.
(please like me, please like me, please…)

On such a day
I could die and be glad to do it.
What’s with this living business anyhow?
(Eat sleep eat sleep eat sleep die…)

On such a day,
Eve, awaking, first saw Adam in the sunlight.
They must have dreamed of great generations to come.
(What will come for me? What will come?)

To Eighteen Years Old

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