I. Alba II. Epitome And dawn found him there wailing around The somber remain of his past In days of innocence, in guarded, delusive idyll Conceit ignited silently, at the burial of youth. In repentant hours I was looking back Into the future of a desolate past. Too many coins thrown in fathomless wells A wish out of reach Vague fragments of meaningless days Performed in the light of flaring candle. And from the dregs of life hope to receive What the first sprightly running could not give Memories fade again as dawn awakes. III. Apotheosis In hermitage I may wash away the pain. Strongholds will ward off apathy. Children, leave these walls for Zephyr will look the ebon door. Tears of dread stain a decript face, Soak the garden and rust the brazen lock. Morn sees a god in solitude As torrid skies announce the daily drab. Maniac laughter escapes a selfish mouth, Silence is the answer as summer leaves the castle walls. Autumns golden scent perfumes his paradise Yet northern skies fortell of dreary and darkened days And the windows still remain untouched and barred, They hide an anchorite who sighs for his private apotheosis. Outside the autumn lord bids farewell, frightened by the old mans dream Gives way to winters icy reign, passing bells applauding in the haze. IV. Seasons Of Seclusion The Prison The ambition and transient desires Breed muted walls of isolation. Pouring rain soon turned into snow, Covered the blossoms, a recluse heart Spring and sun left the old man Like the children who left with the dawn Never to return North wind came all wrapped in grey furs To disclose the isolation that filled his inert soul Velvet shades concealing the shadow of a man in His lifeless world apart. V. An Essay Of Relief A Tangerine Dream Look far away, so deep within Through windows of relief, over walls of vanity Shallow seas drown the tireless rush that hurts The artless soul, I wish I was there. Wait by tranquil streams, theres no aspiring thought, Neither sorrow nor conceit, no desponding word that We live all in vain VI. Disintegration Of Lasting Old man, is this you hoped to receive From a life of content? Look upon your burning world of solace torn And pride forlorn, nothing remains. Through desolate oceans we reach a quiet shore, Truthless prayers consume our search for lore. Descend from fictive mountains of content and earthly fame, We leave no trace but strongholds built in vain. VII. Elegy Window Of Perception
apotheosis, conceit, window, stronghold, wall