The Ghost Of Abyss And The Final Line Of Memory 01

     ...Поэма из далекого 2001 года о том, как лирический герой за неимением иного исповедника решил поговорить с духом бездны. Разговор получился хоть и нескладный, но на весьма болезненные темы утраченной любви и смысла существования.

   The Ghost Of Abyss And The Final Line Of Memory

    "When you look long into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you"
                F. Nietzcshe

When the blue waters of the river
Are closing over the dead clay,
The winds are raging to deliver
The night's might from the grips of day

And thus resumes my dreary mission:
I hear the calling darkened shore
It always shares my strange condition
But cannot ever give me more

What's staying for the broken-hearted?
I'm backing to the murky sky
Not to regain the long-departed
But just the explanation why

Why I'm a priest but not a hero,
Why the designs are vain and wrong,
Why my reposal's turned to zero
And why I'm doomed to walk alone?

Who'd be my retrospect's corrector
In the nocturnal universe?
It's the appearing black chasm's spectre
Who groans to me: It's all your curse!

   Poet:
Oh, thanks a lot, I'm "glad" to hear it...
But why the lyric-making craft
Eclipsed my reason and to clear it
I must forget that I've been loved?
   Spectre:
You're still in the obsession's fetter?
Your first affection was so rash!
   Poet:
Yeah... this is right. But does not matter
This kind of love won't burn to ash

Her image feeds my inspiration
But when I go that lost hope's maze,
The shades of the divine temptation
Evoke in me a tearful craze...
   Spectre:
It seems to me, you must speak frankly
'Cause I'm a fetch, I don't exist
My form's embodied, but quite faintly
To scatter with the morning mist
   Poet:
Alright, give me your real conclusion:
From where was that exciting gift?
Was that the love or but delusion
To be bewildered and deceived?

We were too young to understand it?
Too shyly told those truthful lies?
Or had too little while to spend it
Far from the wankers' spiteful eyes?

How could she spread her wings and vanish
To search an other passion's trance
And why now no one can replenish
My bosom ravaged by offence?

Who was that ass that tried to teach us
How to give up the greatest dreams,
How to suppress the splendid wishes
And apprehend them as a glimpse?
   Spectre:
The human terms are so amazing...
Your questions nip me in the bud
I've no ideas. What you're gazing?
I am the modest slave of God...
   Poet:
You're not a slave, you are a bastard!
You were created by the spell
If you know something, tell me faster
Or I will throw you straight to hell!
   Spectre:
Don't worry, master, I'm a joker
But in your own tomorrow's fate
You're sentenced like a blind sleepwaker
To trip up, but to rove and wait...
   Poet:
To wait for what? I'm growing older
And yet have none to hold on tight
The angel sits upon my shoulder
But the despair bedims my sight
   Spectre:
D'you think of what you have been doing?
   Poet:
I think of everything undone
   Spectre:
Much wider are the roads to ruin
Than the sole passage to the sun
   Poet:
Ghost! Do not try to quote the Bible
The testament's words aren't for you
My bad mood is not suicidal
And this time I'll present MY view:

I'm incarnating the unspoken
In verse which is the final line
Drawn between Nothing and the woken
Disturbing memory of mine

But say to me, for what I'm living?
For this cold lake palled with the smoke?
Should I keep faith and every evening
Remember the frail ties I broke?

Can you reply, false benefactor,
When did I miss the gun to ride?
I've to forever watch "Psi-factor"
And dully heed "My Dying Bride?"

I need forgiveness and I'm praying
I hate to cry and to complain
But so tired of the lane I'm straying
In the eternal autumn rain...
   Spectre:
The Life's Path is a hard conception
'Tis not the stairway cast of gold
The Earth's a point of intersection
Of paradise and underworld

Not in the flesh, I am a demon
I don't know what it means - to love
To love your neighbor or love women
You dared to guess? Don't make me laugh...

I rule the wild stream's stormy ripple,
Can crush, demolish, drawn and sweep
But there is wisdom of the people
I cannot catch for it's too deep
   Poet:
There is no wisdom but the instincts -
To thirst and drink; to eat and breed
E'en I... the empathy harp's thin strings
Fence the last refuge of my creed

And you? You tear my brain asunder
Your dictums hardly will be sheer
I'll tell you: drive tour striking thunder
And get a f..k away from here!

I'll overcome the mental crisis
And the distress within my head
But the lethiferous star rises
Too many causes to grow mad

My grief rests in the crystal rummer
Of Past. And its hand seals this tale
I'll wander through the fading summer
And sink into the mortal gale