...written as though by Mr. Sark...
Have you learned to understand
the marriage into which you pledged
your self, your life--
like liquid poured
into a cup it does not ken,
yet physics calls it and commands
it seep and fill the cracks,
crevasses, inner space
that sight cannot behold
at first-born glance.
Your death, a bird,
a waking from illness long
and innocence.
A troth you'd plight again,
Sweet? And would you gladly
swear once more and give
same Death's Head your own hand?
To wear the name of which you now despair,
possess that which you'd rather never,
and learn again the dance of hate,
partnering opposites to copulate?
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 2003 (c)
Feedback Appreciated!
From my website, Mr. Sark Writes Loves Poetry royaltoby.com / alias / sark.html