Oh golden lad, where are you now?
I hope not gone to dust below
the ground, or into the last fire.
You were the all of my desire
when you were young, so long ago.
It was thirty-seven years ago
we first locked eyes. How could we know
that swift passion would not expire,
oh golden lad?
And yet we always had to go:
too soon, too far each parting. So
those flames were not to flare higher.
Nor yet would they die down entire —
as you too, if you live, will know,
oh golden lad.
November PAD Chapbook Challenge 2010: 10
Prompt: a love poem
Some of these poems are autobiographical, some are entirely fictional, and some are a mixture of both. The intention is art rather than self-expression. I don't allow factual details to get in the way of poetry! (I do seek emotional truth.)
They are works in progress, and may be subject to revision without notice. Completed versions appear in my books. Nevertheless copyright applies to all texts found here.
Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your posts as much as possible.