A Would-Be Remedy

                                                                C’est l’extase langoureuse,
                                                                c’est la fatigue amoureuse…
                                                                —Paul Verlaine
Perhaps the pain expected dawns too late,
And calm has settled in its rightful place;
The corners of one’s heart cobwebbed like lace
Abandoned by desire’s warm touch. Instead
Fatigue sets in, a languor slow, ecstate,
Resignèd to the mould taking the face
Of one’s delight – no beauty now remains,
All kindly gifts just memories in one’s head…
Yet maybe pain would be a remedy
To such a stillness. Surely there must be
A seed or two that grows again; by fate
Decreed to melt the numbness taking hold,
And so that heart will trudge on through the cold
In newer faith, forgetting how to hate.
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