I see now in the stupid flaring of your dark passions
The ironic symbolism and the one great truth,
The making of all legends and
The genesis of the poetry that inspires you:
A man can't stay hard forever.
No, not even yourself-but must give way with time
And constant friction and care.
This is no slight thing, but rather all mortality
Caught up in a single moment
Of distraction.
And the strongest blow against me with time
Too, shall soften, naturally,
As your impression fades.
And I can't help but call that to mind,
Thus: your passion.
You are not the father of the darkest part of me.
Against that you are impotent,
Mute, numb.
It is greater than all you ever did or said.
I made it with bitter spit and sweet tears-
You stood there as I passed.
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