BY DR. AGONSON
My only face, a painted face, so white—
Pale Death, my love, I mock, but not in spite.
In adoration, I become as you.
Just as this vanity reflects what’s true,
for all reality is in the grave—
from that darkness, no light will ever save—
I am your image moving as you move.
I pray, Sweet Death, that you don’t disapprove.
My lips are red, just like your bloody mouth
which never yet has known nor tasted drouth.
I paint the smile wide, from ear to ear,
though not yet quite so wide as yours, I fear.
In every way I make myself as thee,
for you’re the only meaning that I see.
And for your sake, I’ll jeer a king to scorn
and laugh at all philosophy has borne,
for everything will fall before your power;
nothing escapes once locked within your tower—
inverted pinnacle, our souls rise up to Hell,
and Heaven’s just a mirror of all that fell.
Tale Told 