Saturday, September 17, 2016

The Fist by Derek Walcott


The Fist

The fist clenched round my heart
loosens a little, and I gasp
brightness; but it tightens
again. When have I ever not loved
the pain of love? But this has moved 

past love to mania. This has the strong
clench of the madman, this is
gripping the ledge of unreason, before
plunging howling into the abyss. 

Hold hard then, heart. This way at least you live.

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