Golden Wine

I raised that night the golden grail,

And held for sacred the ephemeral

For in these seas where I’d set sail,

I cast my net; found not the eternal.

Quaffed with gusto the Golden wine

And held for sacred the perishable

The lunatic loved and he loved fine

but true lover loves the perishing as well

No prophet of decadence am I

Just a poet, a dancer of silent tunes

Singing solitary the songs of high

I hold for truth the shifting dunes

Bathed my lips with Dionysian’s blood

And spoke to my darling comrades thus

Nothing of significance there is lovers

And not a single care better or worse.