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POEMS FOR THE MUSE IV Love is eternal but not endless, fades, fails, dwindles, shatters. Once an eye, a gaze that men went mad for; then a plaster myth leant in a corner among the dust and flies. In proper reverence we make our vows lifelong and break them, tremble to the snare, willing and breathless, and yet all we steal is always given long before we stir and by the hands we think we rob, for Love has part in every kiss, keeps every bed, indifferent to moralities or lies, and blesses common lust with sudden good and friendship with destructive Paradise. ~by Robert Skelton from the Collected Longer Poems 1947-1977 |