The wind whirled
through the hollow mountains and empty forests.
In the live gardens of dormancy,
its frolic met the shadow of its conscience.
The black wind rose and blew the carrion of hope
into the multifarious crevasses of the underworld;
for if there once stood a heart so pure,
the currents of Tartarus reclaimed parentage
over the zephyr most blithesome.
“O Bearers of Beauty and Paladins of Life’s Glow!”
roared the child of hidden thorns;
“Have you no sentiment for the suffering of the sickly nursed?
Woe betide your cowardice
as the world transpires under the vexing star of vacuity!
Lassitude unsurpassed dims the ancient fire and condones lies.
Where is the embrace of sweet night?
Where the dynamic current that transcends flesh and bypasses time?”