Dazed and bewildered
Standing ‘pon stygian shores
Of midnight’s deepest myre,
Drowned in darkness,
There exists no sight;
No sound –
Seems no sense at all.
Nothing is fresh.
There is no life;
No breath –
Bereft even
Of welcome death.
Feels no sense at all.
Nothing thrives or grows – Under realm and reign
Of Nocturne’s fallen Darkling Prince.
Stillness of smothersome silence encroaches
‘pon everything around,
Leaving naught but slow fade
of human memory.
Wracked and ruined rubble –
Fallen; falling still,
From vaulten gilded firmaments filled
With beautiful, fire-fretted dreams of an ancient world –
Paradise long lost,
Where soft spreadling wings
Once bore a fool aloft –
With laughter, light,
All that went before –
A Tower for to build.
So look you…!
And cast your eyes not down.
Gaze thee ‘pon a tragic, benighted fool.
Look now –
And see him very well.
One who hoped – oft-times ventured
That his tower might reach the Moon,
’til he smote at its foundations,
Laying waste to all around
Paralysed and useless –
Fool’s tower hit the ground …
Now ’tis very dark here –
And I can’t find my way
Home.