In my mindβs eye I see the vague scores of the Faithful - Tremulous, with uplifted eyes, Dessicated carcasses swathed in gray Shrouds of βself-denial,β like so many Shuffling ghostsβ¦ Where is the sun, o flock, Or the light of the moon and stars? Verily, I have desired something else - young bodies Well-shaped and strong, flashing like sparks of flame In the void of the sameness of night - and Am I in sin for this, because I yearn For the molten sunlight of high summer, the Heady scent of flowers perfuming the Warm air? Perhaps - and perhaps the Preacherβs Admonition βVanity, vanity, All is vanityβ will ring like an anvil In my ears someday, and I will cast the Cup of lifeβs beauties from me in supreme Disgust - but nowβ¦ now I do not have the Right to scorn those pleasures Iβm still to weak To seek, still unworthy of through cowardice, And ugliness, and enviousness, and All the inner curses with which the drecks Despise the fair and well-turned-out. For now Let Solomon in all his glory, he Who tasted every sweet and bitter fruit, Pass judgment - I must attain the strength to Sin before I claim his words as mine, for there Is no fouler speech than the wisdom of The strong mangled in the mouths of the weak.
Notes: I wrote this poem in a typical fit of petty rebellion while sitting in worship service a few months back. After I changed around a few words I decided it was as good as it was going to get, and now you have it. I made some incredibly half-hearted mental gestures toward writing today, but I havenβt done itβyet, I suppose, as there are still a few more hours in the day. Weβll see.
βBut I donβt want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness, I want sin.β