Faust, alone in his workshop

by Eric Martin

(Hamlet: “To be, or not to be, that is the question.”
— Hamlet, Shakespeare.)

Since, abroad, my sorrows spoiled my peace,
I quit its stirring scenes without regret;
Since, returning, sorrows fail to cease,
Familiar sights, as well, are sadly met.
Oh! I suffer! and the starless night
That steals upon me in these twilight hours
Adds to my already blunted sight! —
To me alone Life’s hand extends no flowers!
Where am I to find those joys I lack?
I seek in vain — all hopes elude my grasp!
It is time! — Why tremble? — Why shrink back
From Death’s abyss, the grave’s unyielding clasp? —
Come, unwholesome cup! envenomed bowl!
That either shall destroy — or free — my soul!

© 2008 by Eric Martin









About the Author

Eric Martin's poems and translations have appeared in nearly fifty print and online journals throughout the United States, Canada and Great Britain, including The Barefoot Muse, Calenture, Centrifugal Eye, Contemporary Rhyme, Lucid Rhythms, The Road Not Taken, Trellis Magazine, and forthcoming (May 2008) in the Concelebratory Shoehorn Review. A complimentary copy of his chapbook, The Death of Orpheus, and Other Poems, Original and Translated, can be requested at: emart40x@yahoo.com



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