Such must words bear for my eyes be shown.

How shall rigour fare for my heart be known?

Afar it seems be Aphrodite’s quill,

who murmurs secrets more secret still.

Weathered is this land of a forgotten past.

In rustling darkness trembles Chronos aghast.

Dislodged all fringes of unwelcoming art.

Frailest spirits from wisdom we part.

In plays or caves, the passions I remember?

Tenderest thou art, with my heart forth fonder.

How must I wield for my truest verse?

How may I prove my unspeakable words?

Published in: on 29/04/2015 at 9:20 PM  Leave a Comment  

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