The Lovers

Ah! see the line of lovers, shuffling toward its future like a sad, strange conga;
See the wild glory, alight just yesterday, arrested by rude, unscripted death,
The revelers' heedless mirth doused like an arrogant firebrand against a
        storm;
Their hearts stripped of illusive security to learn their finest, their youngest
Hope has grown cold: once a boisterous song, now not even a breath!
Could heaven, by spite, no longer abide their darling's flawless form?
In rage they murmur: "Damn divine jealousy! It shrinks to worm
Any god found on earth that dares reside among us!"

As each avowed lover signs in as "guest," he tips his spout (a small
        oblation),
Pouring memory into the house's haunted store of them,
And prays his tiny ripple will last among the others' collective wave.
In line with lovers' wont, he ponders the many instances of relation,
Turning "gotten" into "given": for was he not the master's diadem,
The long sought after gem that perfected his life even to the grave?
And thus are recollections of the many colored; to these they cleave,
Pondering more of the life to come, rather than why they came.

O the lovers!—weeping and worrying—motley, demure, within and without:
The teacher! the hunter! the savaging lawyer! the doctor! the mistress! the
        petulant maid!
The scientist-preacher! the feeder! the schemer! the mother-redeemer! the
        philosopher-shrew!
Each one a lover, the idol's receiver, neatly premising the weight of his spot;
Shifting together, but hobbling alone, unwilling partakers of death's
        promenade;
All for a peek at the mortified face—or a kiss, or petition, or final adieu.
They pass his fair body, shocked by the pit—it's the end of the marvelous
        show!
Now back to the common, to accepting their part—a great fabric to sew
Of a universe rent—and the business of loosening the knot.

© A. M. Siriano, 2008 Aug 21, All Rights Reserved