The Cutting Of The Cords

Their sight alone I cannot bear
Take them from me, he said–
Each image takes me someplace where
I’d rather not be instead
The pictures come by scores and tens
Poisoning me with gall
Now sever the cord right where it ends
Tearing it from the wall;
My eyes are black, my soul a shade
No light can I know again
No greatness small that man has made
Surviving this bitter end
Who fought and died, for what estate
Was it for nothing at all?
I am forsworn, this cord of fate
Tear it from the wall!

He rested then, his lips astir-
No word had passed their gate
As those in throes of death aver
About their sorry state
Before their hearts must fail from grief
And further words forestall–
As wind gives grace a falling leaf
With shade cast on a wall;
He runs his hand across the rim
Which makes the deskend soft
As if to feel at last for him
A thing which is not lost;
His hand he puts across the screen
From which the spirits call–
Fingers stretching out to scream
To shade the windowed wall;

All is lost, he says at last
Not a thing remains but this
Renouncing sight, for this shall pass
My friend, grant me a kiss–
You come to see how I have been
And I greet you with a roar
One for years you have not seen
Just walking through the door;
The walls are dark, the sun has set
The room in unearthly light
A sudden sound, without regret
Returns us to the night
We shut the door, each goes his way
In the half-light of the hall–
Your folly past, soon comes the day
The sun, the rain, the fall.

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