Faust, alone in
his workshop
by
Eric Martin
(Hamlet:
“To be,
or not to be,
that is the question.”
— Hamlet,
Shakespeare.)
Since,
abroad, my sorrows
spoiled my peace,
I quit its stirring
scenes without
regret;
Since, returning,
sorrows fail to
cease,
Familiar sights,
as well, are sadly
met.
Oh! I suffer!
and the starless
night
That steals upon
me in these twilight
hours
Adds to my already
blunted sight!
—
To me alone Life’s
hand extends no
flowers!
Where am I to
find those joys
I lack?
I seek in vain
— all hopes
elude my grasp!
It is time! —
Why tremble? —
Why shrink back
From Death’s
abyss, the grave’s
unyielding clasp?
—
Come, unwholesome
cup! envenomed
bowl!
That either shall
destroy —
or free —
my soul!
©
2008 by
Eric Martin
|
|
|
About the Author
Eric
Martin's
poems and translations
have appeared
in nearly fifty
print and online
journals throughout
the United States,
Canada and Great
Britain, including
The Barefoot Muse,
Calenture, Centrifugal
Eye, Contemporary
Rhyme, Lucid Rhythms,
The Road Not Taken,
Trellis Magazine,
and forthcoming
(May 2008) in
the Concelebratory
Shoehorn Review.
A complimentary
copy of his chapbook,
The Death of Orpheus,
and Other Poems,
Original and Translated,
can be requested
at: emart40x@yahoo.com
|
|