On a Grey Thread/The Hole in My Curtain
The Hole in My Curtain
It is because of the hole in my curtain.
I have stared through the torn spaceInto Life's tortured faceAs she leaned low and treadled her loom,Watching, watching for the inevitable doom.And I have seen the haggard shadows flitOver the tapestries she wove, bit by bit,Feverishly, her lips shrieking gay lies;And always the tired song in her endless eyes.I have watched the Form with his weary cynical face,His pale smile, his definite, measured pace,Gliding forward and gliding back like a thing condemnedAnd calmly slitting Life's woven cloths from end to end.
And they have wondered that I should laugh!Marvelled at the potent wines I quaff.Marvelled that I should dance on their God's dried flesh,Shape a lute from a bone of His; weave a meshOf mirthless melody; that I should find Sin fair,Circle her body and sleep in her odorous hair.They have marvelled that I should mock the day,Throw my veil over the sun and smile at Fate's old play;Lead my soul down the ribald, flowered path.They have marvelled . . . they have wondered that I should laugh.
I have looked too long through the hole in my curtain.