Ambivalence

A new series of poems, though none of it is recent.

Ambivalence

“I am a dreamer of past constancy
though the floor is often ambivalent
and I am seldom sane.”

The cool whisper of vacant-eyed saviors
pray and lead on
call the tune and pray.

A hymn came through the open doorway
“The dreamer speaks and ‘tis gone.”
Sorrowful swelling of the breast

The cross-eyed lady in waiting
gazed longingly, longingly
at her Shepherd still bound to his sheep.

His hands tied in golden rosaries
the sullen buried beneath the weak
the innocent are easy to kill, though hard to forget

He lost the count long ago.
In a blatant confessional
her soul was mislaid.

“I am a dreamer,”
she sighed through the screen
a virginal veil to hide the rust,

“I linger at the window
the stained glass at dawn
and I seldom see the sun.”