Shipwreck Of Sympathy

The seasons are our pawns! They are a myth; shaken by the prophecy of the orange blossoms.

I believed: in living Fate; the shackles of the hours; life reflected in balconies; accepting whats been accepted.All that is over! The truth is in the reality we choose.The damned never finds his salvation in the inferno, but in the paradise he dreams of.

I almost began to swear manicly because thats all I could see.I was beginning to see it as inevitable: if this is all there is than this is all that can be done.Stupidity, crass stupidity! I could have become what I abhorr, yes I abhorr: Upbringing and familiarity will no longer blunt my tongue.No sympathy! It is not deserved.

Ah I can still see the sun-lit lovers embracing on the white grass anointed by the golden palm trees: they have never seen the perverse undending filth, and if they had, the trickling fountains would absolve them.

I have now seen: horizons of orange blossoms, walkways of marble, bright open spaces, lakes reflecting time, creations of majesty un-thought of; and in everywhere: people living! So I can no longer worship that which is so far removed from these visions.I grinningly renounce all that does not lead me back to them!

                                                Ah purpose
                                              What a prayer!

Calmness impossible in that serenity.Everyone slept in the sun's wide touch, everyone reclined on Pan's glittering lawn, all the children played behind marble columns, and all the beautiful women walked leisurely on pathways of dahlias.I could do nothing, just look and weep, tears borrowed from the Virgin's heart.

The perfect leaves of the olive trees are the golden breasts of Venus: those who lie beneath them receive all: love, friendship, freedom.There is a God after every bridge.One that asks not for prayers or blood: only for silence.(I have felt them all, and still do.)

Oh look, the ghouls still frown, hungry as ever for every sick breath.Ah the laughter defies heaven, walls and dreams; I am so repulsed I am afradi.To hell with you: I am not here, I am not here, only this flesh, this blood, can hear you.My soul still listens to the fresh winds caressing the glaring river water.

Say goodbye to me.