#716 - to Sydney
Death, my Love; and love, my Death,
are disparate not, though they to the mind appear.
No more divorced than alterations temperate--
As climate shifts within the year.
My Death so cool, my Love so warm,
Though doubtless interchanged--
In Death a lie, in Love a truth
Hold their dichotomy contained.
Your eyes like soul in liquid form,
Your blood like sin congealed,
Love's pain my sole objective:
Death's peace beloveds will reveal,
Us. To be in sand, or snow, well-met cave or peak,
Geography informs our courtship,
And impels me now to speak.
As affection twines with longing,
And fondness takes true root,
You learn me of my purpose,
Ennoble my pursuit.
This, our world, a map of my desire, decoded shows too clear;
That you alone, my sweet-dark deathly Love, do I pursue--
And for you, Death, bitter lovely, persevere.
Disclaimer:This work is not affiliated in any way with the ABC spy series Alias, or, for that matter, Mr. Sark, whose poetry--until such time as he wishes to make it public--remains unsung, unfeted, and largely unknown.
by: Neftzer 2002 (c)
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