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How I long to see your face today
But all I see
Are your feet
Lingering
In my weak memory
I mourn you today,
My life
Here I lie in dismay
Because thy wise mistress says
Gold and silver I cherish
Not the ink of a fool on paper
How sweet it looked
Seeing my first fruit
My companionship
With your mistress produced,
All I have today
Is a seed of this fruit
Forgive me
My life,
For your name
I remember not,
Forgive me
For I call you my life,
For my work’s sake
Oh how gay I am
At the sight of your feet
My life
For thy body’s photo
Is nowhere to be found
The photographer remembers not
I mourn you
My life
But I mourn your mistress not.
You started mourning your life, yet ended in praising her, but condemning life's mistress. Is it that in your estimation life is not the cause of your problem, but something else? and if yes, what or who is it? A good piece, but in stanza 3 lines 2 and 3 run on. Instead of 'my first fruit' would you consider 'the first fruit'?
ReplyDeleteWhen something you've put your entire self into is not appreciated, it does hurt. I relate easily with this.
ReplyDeleteYou know, this is really deep. You have painted a clear but seemingly hidden picture of the 'mistress'. she appears to be the 'material girl' and truly doesn't "cherish the ink of a fool on paper".
I have one little suggestion though. "The photographers remembers not"?
It should either be 'photographer remembers...' or 'photographers remember...'