Bleak and Meek

Bleak like Blake in the Night:
“The evening star does shine
And I must seek for mine”
Burning coals crackling in my poems
Like in the hearths of many Winter homes
I’m usually fraught feeling like a schnook
Frozen in an imaginary inglenook
Watching the embers, bleak and teary-eyed
While my sense of reason, blurred and undignified
Is it the soot or smoke trying to get into my soul
Or the pangs of pain extinguishing my very whole?

Meek like Blake in The Lamb:
“Gave thee such a tender voice
Making all the vales rejoice”
Faith once again in my heart springing forth
Like in the hearts of those with newfound worth
Night could have been a tranquil bed
If not for Sadness, the wandering skáld in my head
I dream more of returning to my native land
Than of making love with my cursive hand
Is it the nether gales or the meek breeze in early Spring
Or just the sound of my restless sighs devoid of zeal and zing?

- 9:20 p.m., March 24, 2004, Wednesday; Surrey, British Columbia
(While listening to “Nothing Ever Lasts Forever” by
Echo & the Bunnymen [Evergreen; 1997, London])