(...)

(…)

Burn a thousand flowers streaming,
And the ghosts of shadows dreaming
With breath upon a condor wing,
The Kiss of Elysian spring.

But far out in the troubled sea
Where sway the petals silently
Dim lights burn in place of the rays
For no sun shines upon the days—
Though twilight shines from out the west
On the Isle of Ruin and Rest.

Held aloft by demonic hands
Loom towers over the black sands
Of a shore of thunder and flame,
From whose tongues the ill shadows came
On the breath of a realm unknown
To haunt the graves that were their own
In the silence and the stillness
Of plutonian wilderness.

Kiss the darkness, bury the sky.
What now dreams inside us shall die.
And to that sea with death’s cold smile
We wander that far-away isle.

© 2021 Marten Hoyle