Me

Me


I made an etching of my soul
At the bottom of a fine red goblet -
And only you could see straight through,
Down past the dregs
Where others glimpse the prima facia me.
As darkly through a mirror I pass
The depths of my soul in verse,
To wit -
Note that I am well dressed here.
Victorian sensibilities never stopped me
From laying my soul bare,
While on this plane I'm all high collar
And mutton sleeves...
A spit-stained handshake is what I offer
At the bottom of the parting glass.


~Darkling Plain, Jun. 26, 2008