Helios!
Chariot rider of light!
You must descend, at once,
With your proud steeds, honey-gold,
And draw the Sun out of its tomb -
For ah! the night’s cold, and the day
Faded; those holy scenes of childhood
Sorrows, the young, virgin love, first
Bloom of life - how distant now their
Presence, how still and dead the play
Of innocence, how haggard the youth!
Oh, where’s the flowers’ light, where
The shade of that one old, wise oak?
Nowhere - nowhere the winds blow.
Mute. The still sea embraces the dead
Sky. The earth weeps in cracks, the
Sky sheds not a tear nor doth it hear
This silent suffering of its child; and
You, Father Helios, proud Gold-Sun;
Oh, even You, blessed Emperor-God
Cannot pierce this cloud-cloak with
Your light-spears; who, then, shall
Keep the mist at bay, the cold within
Its castle of ice! for, oh! the blizzards
Rage within my heart, scatter the
Love, snuff the passion out of my
Being! I am listless, spiritless; my
Soul, wayward, seeks salvation in
Empty vessels, each sharing in my
Fate. Whence hath Man, once proud
God-in-Flesh, forgotten how to love?
Heavens’ child now crawls the Earth,
A meek worm, whom darkness is the
Only cloak and Moon the holy Sun;
Helios! Death’s shadow grows deeper
Each passing day, your rays dimmer;
Salvation seems hopelessly out of
Reach.