Blood For Wine

The era blossomed full
Its purple and white passionflowers
Lined the vine like a transitory bride.

Although a hardy specimen,
The lesser branches bowed beneath
The fruit of its own pride.

My ink ran dry
When I realized the words
I spoke were no longer mine.

With nothing left to give,
I tried to compensate
By serving blood for wine.

I followed my heart
And was consumed entirely
By my desire to feel
What I may never ascertain.

The social expectations
Of my gilded wanderings
Became more than I had
The means to entertain.

I thought I saw myself once;
I thought I was immune,
In the lightest shade of night
Shadowed by the moon.

© 2004, Jennifer D. Lac Kamp