I come to you Master as in my Youth.
For you who had warned with Futility
What happens when singing schools Multiply
They gain for the Gyre what it would Not
Distorted with the Passion of Season
Blast the roots of the Roses with Wreckage
Anatomy ground down on a Pestle.
The Falconer cannot hear the Falcon
It no longer Lurches but has Arrived
Your Prophecy of the Second Coming
How Ruinous is Beauty to Ruin
Twice worse than a sonnet of Disaster
Silence bestirred the Goodness of Gladness
While Might became inured by its Madness
No comments:
Post a Comment