Locusts & Honey
And what if this cradle falls, if the bough breaks?
Would it be so terrible, to be estranged
and alone, attuned to echoes? The fear
and pain of inconstancy, searing scars
in the name of love, ever unwilling to relent.
Is contented isolation so frightening
as to be avoided at the price of abuse?
Should this bough break, it is doubtful
that another could be found.
And if the cradle falls, might sleep come
cold and numb, yet sweet all the same?
Can solitude truly sustain? Is this what
the ascetics sought, crawling into cracks
and clefts of unyielding waste? Is a steady diet
of locusts and honey so bitter to the taste?
Part of me longs to know, yet dreads the truth:
that solitude might be my final, fitting proof.
Prodigals
How would a perfect love to prodigals appear?
Would Desire its sacred benediction grant?
Would it fester, feeding ennui like rot?
Would we withdraw, warped and wary in disbelief?
And love’s blinding luminescence,
Does it need sorrow’s shade to shine?
The wretched only may know redemption,
And the Fallen fathom a Paradise long passed.
A. G. Elrod is a Lecturer of English in The Netherlands’ university system and a PhD candidate at Vrije University in Amsterdam.
Sparks of Calliope 