NO GOLD TO GLISTEN
Illumined by the embers glow
that glimmer still in darkest tracts
as hope falls damp on smouldering coal
where victims of the bowstring lie.
By natures impulses that wane.
and truth grains fail in barren lands
the pledges made are all transgressed
by solemn doctrines entertained.
All hope contained in crescent form
is tossed upon unquieted seas
which wash the shores of solitude
where blood falls cold on wave-wet stone.
These places not for novice eyes
No hope to consummate repose
No gold to glisten on the hand.