GLITTER AND DUST
As perfection lies its own fault,
Who then shall guard the Welkin vault?
What treasure awaits gleaming eyes?
What pleasure there baits dreaming sighs?
What measure of Fate's scheming lies
Now brings us to our knees?
For Love must die that Hope may live,
But Love must live that one forgive.
And so the vicious circle springs
To rides pernicious demon wings
On superstitious golden rings
That chain us like disease.
For Time's mystical enigma
Flutters in heart with Hope's stigma...
To tip the tide, to break the will,
To rip the pride, to shake the ill,
To slip, to slide, to wake the still
That none escape her call.
For few see the glitter in dust.
Yet fewer still own eyes of trust,
Nor should forfend fascination,
Nor would extend explanation,
Nor could suspend animation,
To keep them from the fall.
That Love is dead, Hope may yet live
For all behind was dark and drear,
And all before was night and fear.
How many hours of night or day
In those suspended pangs I lay,
I could not tell; I scarcely knew
If this were human breath I drew.
[This message has been edited by Michael (edited 03-17-2000).]