Red Wine

Poem for Round 6 of Slam '04

See, the Lord is going to lay waste and devastate it . . .
It will be the same for priest or for people
for mistress or for maid. . .

The new wine dries up and the vine withers
all the merrymakers groan,
the gaiety of the tambourines is stilled, the joyful harp silenced . . .
Isahiah 24 (1-13)






Will we lie in ecstasy, my love, asking ourselves the windswept questions that we can only answer by prayers or petitions?

Alighting on the fast roads of our past, like wild horses that inhabit the earth, will we win luck at His feet, measuring misfortune as we run?

Will you take me with you, dear, where we shall not perish?