In I Went, Bravely

I.

In I went,

Bravely, 

Ready to do brave things

For love.

I have come here to brag,

For too few lovers do.

Our names should be engraved on 

An archway lined with sapphires

To recall what we willingly lost

For love.

For without my singing

No desperate songs of mine

Would echo through the sky;

Without my crying

My joyful cries

Would never ring above the earth.

So I have come to exclaim my significance

To anyone who will listen.

Sit up!  Look smart!

I have come to bear witness to the 

Miracles I’ve performed,

And to the grave faults of powerful men.

II.

In the secrecy of doomed affairs,

I have made bloody stands for love.

Left for dead, betrayed,

I have sworn by my wounds

That Hate would not claim me.

I have awoken at dawn,

Rage scratching at my guts,

Commanding me, 

‘Avenge, Despise--’

But here I am

Writing of love.

For fear and vanity

I silenced my weeping for years.

Then it erupted one day,

And the whole earth was enveloped

In its light.

Daily I go forth-- 

To the bank or the store--

But always imagining,

This is my final outing.

For who can know?

And the closeness of death

Imbues my walking 

With love.

We are all condemned here,

Every human footstep

Leading back toward death,

Our every word a

Prelude to our death.

And that is why I have strode out,

Even if only for stamps,

With a Majesty befitting the Dying,

With the Seriousness of an Emperor.

III.

But I have not been recognized for my deeds, 

Few lovers have.

For we live in a world of jackals

Who have chewed at our ears

Till now we hear only 

The screeching of jackals;

Who have clawed at our eyes

Till now we mistake for some saintly radiance

The gleam on their drooling teeth.

If it is indeed with this egoism,

Pettiness unworthy of a child,

That men in seats of greatness

Wish to reach into our souls

And ignite some faith there--

Then what else is there to say of them?

How can any decent reasoning soul 

Pretend to admire them?

We lovers are a different sort.

I want no part of politics or debate;

I want only to expand the range of my loving

Till my heart breaks again, 

That is all;

For only in the endless breaking of one’s heart

Can one hold a course for love.

Therefore strive for magic, for knighthood;

Strive to be knighted by love

And to learn the socrery of loving;

Cast spells of forgiveness

Upon the brows of the bitter, the sick;

Lay down your sword, and

Cast the wreaths of royal flowers 

Upon the shoulders of the condemned;

And finally,

Harrass the tyrant between your ears

With endless forms of treachery--

That is the lover’s way!

IV.

Come, do not be put off by my bragging, friend.

We are not without our vanities, we lovers;

We too have cases to present,

So come--

I know I am no hero;

Dreams sit in my heart,

As they sit in every heart,

Gathering the gossamer of regret.

And I am no pioneer;

Finer men have made their way 

Along this trail of love;

Some long ago,

And some, perhaps

--So enamored, so broken--

Did not boast on their return.

Their wisdom was dark and deep like a lake;

They were silent and gazed toward the mountains.

I myself must brag of my little enlightenments

(Without me laughing

There would have been

No crazy laugh

To irk the tired women in my building!),

But all that I can truly claim

Is that 

In I went, bravely,

A fool,

But venturing

Toward love--

Love,

Which offers no promise,

No prize but this:

To tell even the dimmest among us,

You are the Burning Bush of Sinai,

You are the Light of Lights;

To tell the blackest killer,

You are the twinklings and yearnings of the night,

You are the wind and leaves of the pregnant day;

To tell, finally, 

All of us:

You are the Dark Mystery of Time,

Born to shine--

A condensation, merely, 

Of love, 

Just so, just so,

Like a moth through firelight,

and then gone.