Your stay was brief, intended for pleasure;
And time for dalliances is always short.
But you made it your business – made it an art,
While it lasted it was Your expression of soul.

It would have done to give your name to a holy book
Reviled as you were, prophet-son
Chastised for worshipping nature and beauty,
Your song was blasphemy in the ears of the deaf.

Your fire strained against the inside of your skin,
Full to splitting.
Eventually it broke as these things do
and loosed you to the sky, where you belong, really.

Pleasure never lasts and truth is eclipsed by fear
So you took your leave
As guests do when they no longer feel welcome
Come again, Jim.

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