Inspired by the poem “and the days are not full enough,” by Ezra Pound 

If ever the sky above is grey, and memory
along with wisteria
compels our understanding, then
it must be December.

Hardly 
do I await the rising sun
hardly
do I remember
the last time 
my heart had sung
when daily chores finish
and a welcoming
fire begins to burn,
what good is time 
that trembles at mere arrival of dusk?

At first you coalesce with guile 
plunging my soul
with yours 
deep into the abyss of lawlessness
and lust
if only I could persuade you
to catch hold 
of inner light,
of each moment
as it tiptoes around us
and flies–
You
with your bowl of perjury and 
world of lies, 
what good is time
when lips are sautéed with long despair?

And the days are not full enough
nor 
nights sufficient, beloved
mine
yet I sought to hear the voice of conscience
knowing
outside it’s dark and the snow

is falling. 

 

Photo credits: Annie Spratt, Unsplash

Posted for Weekend Mini-Challenge @ Real Toads

 

And Posted on the Poetry Pantry @ Poets United