The Rape

Poem in Terza Rhima Why is it that the last few forms of life Bring into being a fragrant sexual see Complete with beckoning finger which invites With downcast eyes and shame feigned modesty. Why is it that the last few forms of death Fling all those masks of personality Into those sucking eyes which take the breath From old men in the tail end of desire Who have no wish to fan the flames afresh? And why must we chance the waves of storm whipped seas, We who sit in cobwebbed empty rooms? What is it that our nature does require, A naked swim, a song among the tombs? I remember when I wished that sex be turned To love and was, by rape, that wish denied Oh how that loathsome violence burned As we lay together side by childish side. We are by insane potters thrown and turned And by their whims are tortuously burned. Carl Estrin