Crippled Poets
Among the earliest of lines to spring
And linger utterly till now are long
Ones drawn from blinded eyes. The verses sing
Like prophets’ spirits which must see. A song
Of guts, the gods, and marrow-spills came out
From manly depths behind the forehead of
This sightless face. Other cripples shout
From later centuries. They cry out love,
And hymns, and death because of twisted bones,
And club-like foot, misshapen skull, soul, brain.
Both beauty and a melody in tones
Of bitterness blared out from dwarf-shaped pain.
..The blood-drowned lungs of Keats exuded death
….In this long line of men with twinge-fraught breath.