Sonnets to Orpheus
 

Sonnets to Orpheus - #11 The mystery at the heart of time.


Gibt es wirklich die Zeit, die zerstörende?

The mystery at the heart of time:
Why now, on the sleeping hill,
falls the castle - or this heart of mine
besieged by a stormier will?

The vulnerablity of childhood
is the source of later joy,
the heart a fountain of wild blood
dancing unpredictably.

Among us transient spectres pass,
clouding our lives like smoky glass -
we are both viewers and the viewed:

beyond the pane we sometimes glimpse,
seeing the mighty gods as pimps
and we their wretched livelihood.

alternatively
Among us transient spectres pass,
clouding our lives like smoking grass -
to some we’re monarchs, some we’re chattels:
beyond the haze we sometimes see
-sometimes at sword-point, sometimes free-
our value to the gods as cattle.

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