Now let me die, for I indeed was slain
With my three sons. Where are ye, sons? Oh let me
Find ye, that I may perish with you; dying,
Cover you with my form, as doth the fowl
Cover her chickens! Oh, Philistia
Thou now art compensated,–now are getting
Rich with this crimson, hot, and molten tide;
That waits not patient to be coined in drops,
But rushes, in an ingot-forming stream,
Out of the mine and mintage of my heart!
Oh my three poor dead sons, where are you? Ye
Have gone before me into the hereafter
Upon such innocently-flighted steps.
That I, with feet cumbered with clots of blood,
Shall lose of you all glimpse, and then my soul
Shall drop to the abyss. Gush faster, blood,
And gallop with my soul towards Hades,
That yawns obscure.
(Charles Heavysege)
More Poetry from Charles Heavysege:
Charles Heavysege Poems based on Topics: Soul, Death & Dying, Art, Sons- Haunts Of A Demon (extract from Saul) (Charles Heavysege Poems)
- Conscious Madness (extract from Saul) (Charles Heavysege Poems)
- After Defeat (extract from Saul) (Charles Heavysege Poems)
- Childhood Alone Is Glad (Charles Heavysege Poems)
- The Fallen Angels (Charles Heavysege Poems)
- Winter Night (Charles Heavysege Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Death & Dying Poems, Soul Poems, Art Poems, Sons PoemsBased on Keywords: coined, cumbered, clots, mintage, philistia