Though on this bed my limbs and digits lay
In honored supplication to the day
I also pray humility to night
Which soon but for the moon shall have no sight;
And from the dark my voice shall speak aloud
As if a brother taken to the crowd
Though weak and smothered under dark hued shroud
I shall not show my shame but speak up proud
As all can see the flicker of my flame
With hue now burning blue in sad refrain.
Thou cannot see my smile shine all the while?
Yet surely it doth come from inner style
For style is that subjective born of pain
And too it falls from skies like sudden rain
In search of gravity and glory's gain;
Like ten thousand needles sharp, a-kin of skin,
Each a silver-threaded pearl washed in sin
Reminding me of history I know
Still filled with passion's guilt and lover's woe -
I laugh the laugh of Hades as I go!
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