L'asthe'nie de Ferjol

“L’asthe’nie de Ferjol”

Seraphim, haunted, sing in my veins…
Their voices—lost in the stillness that flows
From the choir of my spiritual stains.
Delicately the flesh and soul decompose
As the songs wage wars of sickening sound
With the distant whispers of the drowned.

This is the bloodless shell
That death allows not to sleep
In the decay of this cell,
Whose starless shadows creep.
And but a white rose wreathes
The tomb which breathes.

A thorn lies in the heart of the phantom—
Perhaps a dream which now solidifies.
What reality will this vision become
If ever seen through another’s eyes—
Alone among tears, blinded by sight
In the horrid life of the light?

Alas that my blood is haunted
By something more than life.
Demented, it flows; unwanted
In the realm of sorrow and strife.
This is what the learned men say,
And for this, I bleed today.

© 2021 Marten Hoyle