Beneath the arches of Semele's son,
I heard the fool upon his lyre strum
And felt unrest within my breast undone.
I reached to kiss the glove upon thine hand,
For one small taste enflames a thousand more,
Yet from my sight you flew to trojan land,
Where I for thee to Nestor did implore.
Betrayed as Rome's now shrunken legacy,
The Mayan bell which tolls doth beat my prayer.
From sea to shore I hop in quest of thee
'Til Arthur's table round comes to be square,
For love's sad lust doth Contradiction aid:
With or without your love my soul doth fade.
Copyright © 2008 by Layne Cockcroft
All Rights Reserved
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