Epithalamium

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

The love affair continued only long

Enough to give him throbs, bypassing pain,

(Yet pleasure’s pain).  That pain was not as strong

As stinging needle prick in arm.  The reign

Of joy went on like lengths of jubilee

Or so it seemed, but lust’s emotions yield

That sugary impression.  Love was free

From thorn.  A Galahad was he, no shield

Required.  This stint, not Lancelot’s, a love

Doomed, agony involved, for him was brief,

More brief than Arctic springs.  The birch above

It, beautiful, deployed death’s autumn leaf.

  But afterward the snake fang came, a rite

    That ruins everything, a lover’s blight.

© Phillip Whidden