TAKE ME AWAY FROM OUT THIS HELL

Take me away from out this hell,
And tear me from this grinding boredom;
I am undone beneath the thoughts that fell,
Forefeeling parting’s final portent.

Search me, thy touch still gentle, slow,
My woman dear, my rest, my gladness;
Then cover me with drifting snow,
For near draws on the fearful madness.

Beneath the snow I’ll hide from death,
And break beneath life’s heavy beaming;
Believe or doubt — I speak with breath:
I am ashamed: I’ve turned a demon.

I’ll tear the calendar with both my hands,
Those hands that once did learn thy living skin;
From out my heart I’ll fashion jagged brands,
That thou mayst cast them, cutting me within.

And under heaps of judging stones
I still shall move my lips in darkness;
I’ll whisper three soft words, alone —
They fade among the graves’ cold silence.

When wounds have closed with hardened rind,
And arms rise up like stalks from ground,
Our love again shall speak full voiced,
Till bliss strikes blind where we are found.