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B. R. Jording
Letters To Byron (Letters to G. G.)
/does life spring eternal?
can a still, somnolent heart ink
/the covenants burned so brilliantly
your soul, laid bare upon the
righteous flame, did spark
the greatest dissension,
in literary history-
you were the witch in salem
my love, and the pen, your
was it magical?
when the shadows fell at midnight,
to traverse your latest verse,
did it make your subjects soar?
or was it the hand
of lucifer himself, guiding each
and every eloquent stroke,
compelling the forthright
from the cross?
/hephaestus was there, the night the
english-gods cast you off,
into the ash.
they feared you in life,
feared your voice.
you were the exacerbation
of their unprogressive minds;
I feel you two had much to say,
much in common that illustrious eve.
shunned by the ruling class and crippled
by fate, you searched for love
above all else in life.
you craved it, sought its form
wherever you roamed.
/have you found it now in death?
/can love, as art, flourish after death?
transcend the grave, and eternal
/I shall dwell not upon your death beloved,
I can not, upon a night such as this;
the Moon betrays the heart, reflecting
only beauty from barren-scapes.
perhaps that's where love originates,
but I digress, the rhyme intrudes
where baser words should abide.
/so let us talk of moonlight and love,
love and moonlight.
two, imperfect trappings,
perfectly, suitably, timeless.
if juliet were the sun, than surely
you would be its flame.
that thing which makes all others
pale, a phoenix reborn
from the ashes of myth.
/but your wings were clipped to young;
denied the freedom of extinction
you anguish still for the burning
release your loose-leaf stratum
would have wrought;
a slave to love, a slave to the evening
shadow, we two are much alike.
I seek you in the moon's reflection,
you seek reflection, from the moon.
/you lived through puerile times,
with an altruistic soul, that was
antiquated at birth./
/no abstemious life would do,
you deemed it as you would,
scattering your vows to the farthest
shores and sewing rebellious
seeds deep within the acrid sands
jungles soon traversed your name,
oceans echoed your roar.
/your eloquence hit the world like a tidal
wave, drowning out the weakest of hearts,
and aspiring the tempestuous to
submerge themselves in life.
they despised you for your buoyancy,
mourned it when you waned;
that sanctimonious sea
which had first christened you to
the fleet with much regale,
scourged its loyalties,
transient as the waves,
and rejected you,
stranded you upon some
distant shore denied the parentage
of both country and home.
/does the tomb now proffer kinship?
Copyright © 2002 B. R. Jording
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