Poems October 2015
The weeping song
Now that I am old
I have a new relationship with weeping.
I weep for commercials
and white butterflies.
For ugly children and their children,
lonesome roads gray
as heaven. The tax system.
My ghost in flames under the ash tree.
I weep for the joy of weeping.
For the marathon runner, long-distance
trucker, poet, farmer—
all who are professionally acquainted
with endlessness.
When I was young, I wept
for pain. Now
I weep for beauty
and his bastard son darkness
and his wife my life.
A Message from the Editors
Support our crucial work and join us in strengthening the bonds of civilization.
Your donation sustains our efforts to inspire joyous rediscoveries.
This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 34 Number 2, on page 29
Copyright © 2024 The New Criterion | www.newcriterion.com
https://newcriterion.com/issues/2015/10/the-weeping-song