I am your master and your master’s master,
I am the dragon’s teeth which you have sown
In the field of dead men’s and live men’s bones.
I am the moving belt you cannot turn from :
The threat behind the smiling of the clock :
The paper on which your days are signed and witnessed
Which only the mouse and the moth and the flame
Dare devour.
I an the rustle of bank-notes in your graves,
The crackle of lawyer’s seals beneath your tombstones,
Borne to the leaning ears of legatees.
I am the cunning one whose final cunning
Was to buy grace, to corner loveliness,
To make a bid for beauty and to win it
And lock it away.
A S J Tessimond (1902 - 1962)
5 comments:
Nearly as cheerful as L Cohen, I'll look this chap up on Wiki.
Roger - I don't know much about him, I just have one of his poems in an anthology.
A lovely poem, but I'm glad I didn't read this at work this morning. First day back, and feeling very gloomy. But now, this poem seems very fine indeed.
Some people must have a fun life.
Sam - gloomy is why I gave up on work.
James - not poets.
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