To Ginsberg
Poem
Ginsberg wept
For the soul of others,
But I weep for his soul alone.
If only I could be his Green eyed copy boy,
And He my troubled Home.
Sweet roses bloom
Before their time,
And wilt:
The Petals fall alone.
If only I had been his then
And had my blood from stone.
Of course, I will never have him at all now:
The quiet nights
And shared cigarettes.
A gentle touch across my cheek:
Endless joy, Endless regret.
Damnation in an hour glass
I beg of thee, bring back the past,
And set me free
From these dragging chains.
The longing burns with a bitter shame
Felt sternly in my heart.
Is this all part
Of some greater design
By some greater Devine
To test my shattered soul?
Before I ever had it
I had lost that which made me whole.
Locomotive, power through
While Sunflowers burst inside.
In Death there is nothing to fear,
But that’s no comfort to those
Who have yet to die.
All they are bequeathed is grief,
And grief I have, overwhelmed.
For a man I never knew,
Yet loved as if a lover.
No other,
Not one mortal breathed
Has pierced me so deeply
As he who has given over to death
Forevermore too soon.
Too soon, Too soon,
You have left me much too soon!
But the pages of your soul
Still lie scattered across my room.
more by T. MAPLEY
photograph by Reza Shayestehpour
