Twelve Lines

by Gerard Jac

 
Sometimes, elusive friend, I dream of hell;
Though it has passed, a residue remains;
Forfeitures of dearness, lachrimae;
Late holes of self where silence must collect.
These fearsome tapestries you slew with light,
As morning puts aside the shards of night.

Would that you dwelt in me as grace in you
Dwells gleaming, amethyst water of new life;
Bright sustenance, at whose melodious glance
Forgotten words revive -- Beauty, and Art --
My fellow casualties. Now they walk whole,
And shining as they take your equal hands.