O’ ye flowing Muse of transparency!
Entwined within exaltation’s summit
Eclipsing, from throats, vales of poesy
For the will of a galloping Hermit
Whom shoots arrows of time with hands of light
Among ripe moors of divine solitude,
He parts with silver tongues the people’s sight
To your heavens interned through him subdued.
Dwelling in shimmering valleys of gold,
Glowing in the landscapes of a child’s dream
Fragments seduce animations of old
Whom you’ve branded strong enough to redeem
(All serpents coiling the mind to a brood)
Reflecting from your scythed tusks bleak visions,
Futlities shards of darkness renewed
To burn soft under the Sun’s derisions.
Suffering moulds upon Apollo’s grip
And necessity folds to gratitude,
Ears are swarmed by harmonies of worship
Casually rising the poets to a feud;
Unheard, your intrinsic flesh is veiled by
Proposition: Are you dead / or am I?