A poem going nowhere

We who are descended
     from the oldest stars
are a law unto ourselves
      : shadowless
we disown the symmetries
     of our days to embrace
the faultless perfection
     of the rose
the effortless harmonies
     of the nightingale’s song
we scorn those
     who have grown gaunt
with the sins of ambition
     whose lovelessness
renders them unfit for burial
     in the hallowed earth
We who grew
     beneath soot and steam
reject the slaughter of hours
     the merciless murder of flowers
the corruption of innocence
     the treacherous kiss of agony
beneath the ticking towers

Love sweeps up
     through every fibre
of her being
     her soul parcelled out
in the soft caress of her hand
     eyes ablaze
she utters undying words
     and her body sways
as her golden tresses
     coil and uncoil in the vortex
Unblemished
     she breathes a fresh pulse
into the day
     A Lazarus along the promenade
salutes her discerning beauty
     and white gulls dip their wings
in deference to her grace

John Lyons