Forsook by all, I fled apace
Unto a kingdom of my dream,
Yet none awaited me in that place,
And so I parted from my gleam.
Time stood as doth a barren end,
Oppressing soul and quiet heart;
In wrathful fits, a muted cry
Did tear my every toil apart.
My youthful light did seek a pane
Wherein were mirrored, bright and fair,
Sweet Hope, and Joy, and Virtue's grace,
Which fled ere eventide the air.
A cruel wind swept all away,
And Light with Darkness strove in war;
Whilst I betwixt those powers stood,
My hand by grievous cuts did mar.
Each breath was Death, each glance held Fear,
My dearest friend proved false at last;
Yet lo, an Angel, song upon his lips,
Shall cleanse my spirit of stains long past.
29.5.2010.
Тихий крик
© Copyright: Серж Блэйк, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110012300584
Свидетельство о публикации №110012300584
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