Loneliness

Loneliness 

              after Horace

     The gods listened, papa,

to my prayers; the gods did.

     The gods listened, papa,

for I am alone now, safe

     from love, no longer harried

by fruitless feelings, or longing

     for faces dripping with lux.

And my prayers for Phoenician

     purples, papa, for yellows

like honey comb, papa, costly

     silks, for supple leathers went

unanswered, yet my deep ache

 that goes for days without grace,

beauty, or joy, has been seen.

     The gods listened, papa, give

me what I most deserve:

     one might call it solitude.

[persona]

After Horace

The gods listened, papa,

to my prayers, the gods did.

The gods listened, papa,

for I am alone now, safe

from love, no longer harried

by fruitless feelings, or longing

for faces dripping with love.

And my prayers for Phoenician

purples, papa, for yellows

like honey comb, papa, costly

silks and supple leathers go

unanswered, yet my deep ache

that goes for days without grace,

beauty, or joy has been seen.

The gods listen, papa, give

you what you most deserve:

one might call it solitude.

[first version]