Grace Poem by John Lars Zwerenz

GRACE

I am drunk with waves, and majestic brine.
I have returned from Spain with gold and gems.
I have found my princess donning diadems,
In the courtyard where the stones meet vine.

She wanders as a Saint in the hallowed space of the vast and marble square,
Where slender fountains paint with grace the cool, enchanting, autumn air.
Her home is up high, on the terrace of a tower,
Where she sings of fair love to the trees above the bower.

And like Juliet, from Shakespeare's pen, she pines for her lover's masculine kiss,
When the nascent moon shines like a ring within her dusky, raven eyes.
For her swooning hope is to be betrothed in a tender throng of effluent sighs.
Her longing, chaste and sanctified heart, acquainted with only a pious bliss,
Reaches out into my own, warmer than eternity
As our rapturous gazes intertwine,
Like gold within an endless sea,
Like red, salvific, sacred wine.

FINI

JOHN LARS ZWERENZ