Small faces gather at the great, Romantic heart Staked alive in the stiff glare of dead eyes' love-glances, An icicle-daggered light that stabs the loveless dark. How like the vaccuum-vacant philosophy of Sartre! 5 Small faces proved mute, they slink towards death.... Dwindled souls! Seek death's vile ecstatic chance! O hatred! glow again within this loving breath And spurn with angel's-fire every falseness weaving wreaths About this lighted grove of truest Love 10 I hold within me in untresspassed stillness yet. Every striving leaf to some high lightness tends, Sending its green tendrils through a shadowed net; So I strive, and my striving may have no let. O Love, love How sacred is this tended flame no matter how you move--
From the collection "Adoring Thorns"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.