A Poet’s Lament

I am once

Having been
Of all my

Having watched
Romantic witches burn
My native skin

Having to play
With a bauble
Of nothingness
For an eternity
And more

So much
The hurt
The woe
The pain unimaginable
That not even a return
To paradise
Could cleanse
Or make whole

I am the palsied king
Of the foolishly damned
The enchanted damsel
Upon the endless night road

Stray dogs
Behind me
While famished wolves
Wait up front

The lies
Hit me
Like cold bullets
That cannot kill
Only force sobbing surrender

I struggle
For a bit

I remember
My dream of you

Beauty makes it
A bit easier
To accept death

I served thee
Not well
Who never
Served enough

Dan Corjescu teaches at the University of Tübingen's "Studium Professionale" program. Read other articles by Dan.