Something Will Be Done Poem by Barry Van Asten

I live by the power of the amulet;
Of stones and consecrated objects.
Kept in an iron place, I no longer hear
The oracle of sickness: love's undoing.

Between elbows - signs of conjuration
Performed in my anatomy.
A talisman holds you in my sphere;
A goddess in flames: love's ruin.

Let me breathe in your existence
And define the perimeters of love;
To feel the workings of your skin
And the softness of it's touch.

But the plague of youthful adoration
Drifts like ribbons on the sea,
Fearful of the ocean guardian
Between the ceremonial waves again.

And I destroy myself by constellations
Where memory's a museum of my love.
We are guided by astronomical phantoms
To intermingle, blood with blood.

But my body is an almanac
Bruised by the morning sun,
And for all these crafted calculations
Something will be done.