Two Pillars
a sonnet cleave with Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
With my own two feet, withered, yet dreaming
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Can my skin stand still, patiently singing
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Longing crawls through my bones, remains clinging
Of individual life, I shall command
That which I can not understand, screaming
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
To banish demons, irreparable.
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Fingers calm, soften folds that held you near,
Without the sense of that which I forbore —
Reminds spirit, tender promises sear —
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
With parched roots cleave the inseparable
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
Trembling through red shudders, closed to the storm
With pulses that beat double. What I do,
All that matters now — my goal, your compass
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Lines glasses freely on broken stems — scorn
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
Base fates drink of we, curses encompass
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
Lightning crackles, swallows up bridges, worn
And sees within my eyes the tears of two
Pillars holding all love’s pure name knew, of us.
This piece is part of the Cleave Chain collaboration on Chalkboard. To continue the cleave, copy my part of the cleave from the original post here:
The base poem can be found at:
