Alexander Pope

Alexander Pope

In the Royal Garden--
Merlin's Cave--
"A Gothic Library!"
A Greek and Roman sanctuary.
From the darkness of years,
and the chaos of words,
a perfected labyrinth in your mind--
divided into thirds.

Drink coffee morning, noon, and night
to write with wit about a pillow fight,
as chronic headaches fill the open spaces
in this labyrinth of the mind
that you singularly designed.
Wit is written on walls and faces,
as similes turn left--metaphors turn right,
and dare to be bored,
and dare to change places!
The monsters in your labyrinth
make the world tremble.
Chosen by lot, the monsters assemble.

The riotous crowds want to be entertained.
Westminster Hall--appropriated--then profaned.
The bodies drift, lift, and float
down the Thames like gray ghosts
to the throne of Poetry
with its golden grandiose.
Silver souls wait in line to take their turn,
to sit on the empty throne,
where every soul burns.
Usually dead men do not sit on thrones,
but in your case, the devil made a deal--
with the wit--that he owns.

                                    from "Whistling Past the Graveyard"