Fallen.

Dare say, no longer breathes herein
this dust the prospect of great things,
I; for there no longer is of worth
to verses, night to conquest, dreams;
solicit plight amidst akin descent
must I, from equal sin and too regret;
asunder torn for is this phantom self
from fate, evoked and whispered true.

Of those dreaming and that dreamt

Whence only didst I awoke but verdant,
upon the myriad descendants of light
didst gaze and found within them refuge
sought by darkness, forsaken by day.
T’was only in the finite of all the boundless,
only in the vanquished of all unconquerable
nature of god and mountains and men
didst I find the dreaming and the dreamt.