Words for the Chisel (collection)/Memoir

by Genevieve Taggard

For works with similar titles, see Memoir.

Memoir

Such bliss he had, such agony,
And what he had he gave to me.

I shut the door of our small house,
And lived with agony's carouse:

I opened the door and let in
Others to live down the din;

And all the time his bliss was there
Eluding me like silver air,

And when I caught his silver glee
It was too magical for me.

I broke his bliss, I hushed his woe,
We stood in our empty house to go

Packed and coated on our quest;
He went east, I went west,

Until at length we met before,
The narrow panel of our door;

We stood and faced each other as
Long as life-times take to pass;

Into the house I led him then,
I shut the door on living men;

And now we watch grope to and fro,
The ghost of bliss, the ghost of woe.