Akaasi 25: Empty Souls
I hath spoken to the mounds of dirt
even then hast returned to me reason,
But of empty souls ask me not O Lord
I vouch neither for the dead nor hollow.
I hath spoken to the mounds of dirt
even then hast returned to me reason,
But of empty souls ask me not O Lord
I vouch neither for the dead nor hollow.
Where once shimmered a velvet sea,
of love, ardour and wrinkled clemency,
now spans hollow the end of my days,
beneath its skin, a wounded optic plays.
Whilst thou rejoice’st in the splendor of day,
the fear of darkness hath crept to stain
thy conscience clean with the mark of dismay
and no longer then dos’t thy bliss remain.
Sesame sprouts crumble the sweating dirt,
a summer breeze warms a valley’s breath,
brimming shores under the majestic sun
pave an endless river to all fates unknown.
To each his wont, each man his want,
and to each muse, her silent might
with which her lover she does haunt,
his rest of days, and all his nights.
Every path that leadeth unto my lovers home,
resplendent tis with flowers, scent of flowers red,
as countless currants droop where ever I do roam,
among them sweetest faith, tis where I am thus lead.
When valleys shalt drown in ashes of graves,
then nothing shalt rain but virgin most blood,
Lions shalt adhere to our lambs most knave
while angels shalt mourn their wings of mud.
Today the sun fell pregnant with sorrow,
beyond the horizon its servile bow
regret poignant of a broken vow,
wondering anon of a greater morrow.
That we may saunter amidst
yet fields of hanging skies ungrey
by dint of askance might I deem
this frolick strangest sans gusto.
“How beauty lies of a dream within
conceiving it, but not to live in.
Although its swansong’s heard intent,
shall birthen not but discontent.”