John Keats

John Keats

All love is won
redone in dreams.
Above his gyre
my golem screams.

John Keats is dead,
water took him down.
Look at your sun,
pray again for rain.

This vortical
is swept by Sleep.
Before his throne
my angels weep.

Truth held his head,
beauty did him drown.
Look at your moon,
burning in its wane.

You save my heart
with softer spin.
You turn me slow
to graceful sin.

John Keats is dead,
with his rusted crown.
Look at my soul,
pray it shall remain.

All love creates
a turning king.
Above my bier
my angels sing.