1971
Poetry
by Michael F. Nyiri
Rosencrantz Is Battling the Dusk
Sir Rosencrantz of the golden hair Shining intrepidly o'er the glens, Riding his horse, guiding sturdy the reins Slashing his blade, making good all ends, Calming other's troubles, erasing their pains, Harm will come this knight, so noble, so fair. Rescue a damsel locked up in her tower Save the fair girl from her lonely past, Journey to ecstasy, ride home her heart This won't be your first love, it won't be your last. We're in this together, we'll play our part, You'll capture her mind, plant for yer the flower. And when minds have clashed, your nature is changed. Hers is entangled with all that you are. Sir Knight is trapped when he finds his fate And realizes he will have to pluck the flower. The damsel sweet has chosen her mate You will have to lighten the load you have laid. "Rosencrantz," said Guildenstern "The life is torn, the life is torn, "You've put her on, she thinks she's worn "To her there is no one to turn." Alight, young love. Come off your stool Set upon those whose time is right. And if it's wrong, prophesy is told, The light of love turns dusk, then night. Plucked the affection, no more to hold One or the other comes out, looks the fool. And yet, kind Rosencrantz, the other's split Her body trembles, future dim She spends her life now counting hours' All the time, still worships "him". Climbs in her corner, weeps and cowers, Outlets for trust, ways to go there's not. Ride your horse, fleeting away But you'll always come back in your mind, You're just too sensitive to ride too fast, No matter how many damsels you may find Your thoughts will travel back to this past And to your break-away sadness day. "Rosencrantz," Guildenstern said, "Now you can't help it if her face is red. "But you'll always be responsible for the life she'll have led, "In your heart, and mind, thought love be dead." Rosencrantz is battling the dusk. His face may be bright, but not his soul. As long as she's there to remind the past He will never feel truly whole, And he'll have spent the life he's passed With an inward dark that feels of rust.
copyright 2001 by Michael F. Nyiri
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