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No Taste for Chivalry

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No Michelangelo am I
my hands, turning to stone
archeology of my breath dissolving
reaching tomorrow’s fate of cold tongue
naked and unadorned, no taste for chivalry
or the ego of my hands disappearing
at my lover’s grave

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    2 COMMENTS

    1. A dark and thought provoking poem. Coldness is a very expressive metaphor for transience. And this is exactly what we are – mortal. Facing the cold grave, there will be nothing left the but the Eternal soul. We should care for it at least as thoroughly as a knight does for his armor…
      Great job, my friend!

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