The grey hairs
Each time you see her, alive or in memory,
you shall acquire in richness another grey hair,
that being in logical law the most natural wages of love.
No one loves more without sense and more blindly
than aged poor old fools with no more on their heads
than the whiteness and baldness of suffering endless experience.
But he who is young, and without any single white hair,
has not loved anyone but himself yet.
With pain and with suffering only,
with the full desperation of unfair defeat bolting blindly in madness,
in the depths of dishonour and blackness of hell only
real love will gradually come to be learned,
which is not of this world,
but which colours you white like from ashes and snows
and which purges the colours away from your hair.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Written on 2006-10-04 at 10:00
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