Or ice dethrone your locks, abounding from your crown,
What hair that hangs so elegant in sevens?
My love, my love. Allow me passage.
Unbolt your gates, take hold the hounds,
Those slavering beasts which stand guard.
Let me in my Samson, so I may know your heart.
Delilah sweet flame, Ice holds no grip.
Though burned is my soul, no harm do I take.
My Delilah, my love who shines bright as day
My heart is in embers; it smolders in red.
--Unfinished poem I found in my journal. I meant for it to be a whole dialogue between Samson and Delilah, with many stanzas. I might sit down and finish it one of these days. Why is it so hard for me to finish things I begin writing?!
C.R.M
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