Ruminations maundered by a brittle soul:
“There is an entity that is yearned and found,
Never does it seek, yet it is always found:
Realm where Men stay forever drowned!”
Dank, dark – even the soft wind was distraught
Shuddering aloud: “what is your tale of despair?”
“Hark! Hark this melody of gentle despair”
And her weary eyes did mine ensnare.
“Its arcane calls you not, yet utters death:
Wherever you wander, wherever you flee,
There it will stand and there it will be,
Still it will linger when you cease to be.
Stifled breath, whispers of rash dismay
Evoked on the chilly clod: there forever bound;
Enticed on the desolated, dampened ground;
There the Gardener of Mankind can be found.
Treacherous and stern this hollow thief:
Hushing - but leaving a whispering grief;
Dreaded burden, this hollow grief!
Has it no greed to bribe, no heartbeats to hear?
Dark Garden where lament’s echoes falls,
And all the sickly light grinningly forestalls
Grinding to dust all yours joyous calls;
This, the Garden of abysmal sleep.”
Thorn and tricked, forlorn and weak!
“Dragged and drained by foul screams
No wreaking thunder to shut the screams
Have I drifted away from fathom dreams?”
He came to me one morning, one calm, sunny morning,
Plucked the fruit ripened by the fertile ground,
Smiling happily with the gift he found
Taking it into his sacred fire to be crowned.
