Poetry Archives

They say I loved
  but that’s untrue,
matters of state
  bound me;
passion’s proxy
  saw me through
all the terrors laid
  to trap;
still music and verses
  made me immortal.

Wed to a hunchback
  should I have consented
to his desires,
  or rather allowed
romance’s fires;
  the turning of a page,
a hand’s touch;
  Dante knew my age
understood the ardour
  the young crave.

Now they say
  our fiery end is symbol;
one single kiss
  not much more,
and for this
  you place me here,
whirled among the base;
  hardly an adulteress
just victim, murdered,
  by love’s decree.

How cruel of him
  who lusted also
yet turned her mystic
  to avoid failure
of his Catholic road map
  of the hereafter.
Own up!  Both undone
  by love and nature
now linked so close
  we’ll burn together.