Adrift, nearing the point of sleep – alone and cold,
On a night so grimly forebode, pondering and considering,
All of my life’s happenings, knowing I lay alone, in curious…
Wonderment, but because of my cruelty, nihilism and immutability.
I lay here, staring through the pane, watching the frozen rain,
Fall far from the sky…feeling as hapless, as though I am to die,
For whence every moment a flake hits the soiled ground.
I lay here, Understanding, I am so cold, and also so alone –
Even on this eve of nights, this ere many call Christmas night…
So coldly forlorn, and so pressingly bewildered by mine
Despairing state of Quietus, forsake…
There is much joy and much splendour on this night of beauty so weathered,
However I implore – That the dreary do still endure…
There is also terrible suffering amidst vastness and sorrow,
Through so many minds, longingly wandering, with hopelessness and dispirit,
The soul is set asunder – by the plunder of desperation,
And the…resplendence and thunder.
Understand me, and you will yearn no more,
For understanding is presently adorned – oneself,
Then threefold, will you please hear this old souls’ last confess?
I plead without contest, for my Story has never reached…
– The eyes which see, or the ears which hear, nor the tongues which taste,
… Or the skin which feel; yea, and not even the nerves have sensed
… These hallmarks of languishing affliction,
Nor has the brain which comprehend all things, found valid petition.
If there is one thing to be said for the night,
As for this eerily starry twilight,
It is in you I Regrettably confess my sorrowfully lament,
It is the laden riddance of my iniquitous Contempt…
For we are the pioneers of our own life,
And the most copious enemies of our own reprise –
Such rivalry and disdain, so profound is the aching pain…
To death, and beyond, how harrowingly contrite,
The journey through life, so violent in Hindsight –
The mightily defeated, and the blighting conquering,
Are of essence so sound, pure In a void of solace redound…
Where martyrdom exists no more in its infame,
And the flickering Of life nevermore in its fearful disdain.
I lay here, alone, on a night of joyous appraise, so cold and abandoned,
In desolation, thus astray; yea, I say, be rid of your contentions,
And free yourself of reaping profession.
In this, I soundly declare, the weeping is too much to bear,
Behold, the unravelled, and their contemptuous waning
For the shadows so impeding, for the sparrow’s song is never
Untravelled, nor a pride’s frowning unwind so contentedly unbridled…
Where giants are monolithically besought to traverses so distantly,
In tremendous confound; It is in eternalness,
Where one is enveloped by ones’ mind,
The hauntingly refracted are but ghosts of time,
Intertwiningly seditious in unkindly bewept essence.
It is here, I end my tale, of my tragedies so beholden,
To ruinous emptiness, awash in boundless regrets, and wallowing bereavement.
Tonight I shall die, alone in coldly forlorn insignificance,
Only to be carried away, posthumously by the callous undertakers,
So voracious – never to be remembered, nor dejected to emplore –
The truly astonishing nature of life’s frailty, and grinning inevitability.
In your longings, and in your yearnings, take heed to the wiser seers,
Find love, found family, and leave negation for the dead,
Let the world carry your heavy weight, you need simply
Forgive and let go – or be forgotten to the dusts of time,
And regressed to the abyssal colds.
Heed not this warning, I swear unto all that is holy –
You will find yourself nearer, to this lonely place of solemn regret,
You will be wept this same glooming bed.
Where to, one is doomed to forfeiture and failure,
Alone in hateful contemplation, left with nothing but endless tears,
Only conjoined of thought and malcontent;
Alas, the final step is hell, surreal…joined to the grave,
Taken in hand by death’s languishingly reprobating, and darkening embrace.
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