At 3 AM

By Ben C

Have you grasped her hovering on the hum?
Still the call to greatness men can't imagine,
That thing some have felt within, the sight thereof
Illumines shame concealing our untamed sin.
	
So when her scythe wraps you to your charity,
Will it cut sharp into that which through you goes?
Or glance to the ground, 
Merely defeated by soiled, humble clothes.

And when upon your wife and one child she descend,
No device of heaven will contrive to defend
The yet open parts of good people's hearts.
Hence what stream of will, shall you cling to then?

Might you throw to chance, your sacred inner fire
And guard your temporary loves - so unfairly wronged.
Although He while watching with a tear sits higher,
And restrains that faithful servants do no harm.

The latter, as it was explained to me in such mournful tone
Seems a foolish possibility, more likely I am to my own, and
Spirits in their androgyny pour forth jealous onto which I hold.
In the seconds near, I will fight for you, my fair Dear and antelope.

There I submitted to ire - cleaving off her humming head,
Sending my soul to the unknown death of the former threat,
Know my life will pine beneath boneyard's green sheath,
To clasp once more into my warm lover's grip.

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