The Dragon Venus

"...the telescope is gone

which kept my optics free from

all delusion...."

-- Byron.

From this point where? 

The platform of here,

On this sliding iceberg of now,

Its ocean of late spring night's undertow?

Embarrassed into reviling your perfection

Know that the moment of honour

Well honoured will happen along.

You chastise yourself for behaving as you do

Despite reasonable hopes found within.

You chastise yourself for the dangerous joy

Of your complacency.

Does one grow too vicious

In the attempt to be more callous?

Remember that true love is a goddess,

A very dragon of a goddess.

So, as much as life chafes at the fret

In those moments of near regret;

Near despair, near delight,

Deep, deep

In the currents of warm spring nights and

Rainy morning melancholies

While you contemplate your stern 'ghosts of folly'

Remember, its an aesthetic mandala: life, and the dream.

Remember, although torrid torrents in your blood scream

That wastrel is a life of poetry and traveling,

That faith, love, and even hope are biochemical things.

Has life yet made a Medusa of Venus?

Has this fount offered anything to the world's thirsts?

Can you endure the songs of drowning sirens,

And streaming, disassociated faces of Gorgons?