Friday, May 18, 2007

Touch of Cold

Touch of Cold

There is bitterness in the blood
The world is about to flood.
Men’s hearts are no longer kind
There is coldness in mind.

There is no pulse in the vein
Color dies to a stain.
All day long is unrest
The very soul within my breast.

Grinding life down from its mark
Spin on blindly in the dark.
I am tired of the tears and laughter
And what may come hereafter.

In hell and heaven unmated
Like a soul belated
I am weary of days and hours
Desires, dreams, and powers.

The high Gods took in hand
A measure of sliding sand.
Weep for pains in hell;
In the end all is not well.

With lisp of leaves
And the ripple of rain
The tongueless vigil and
All the pain.

Things of which I may not speak
Thoughts that make the strong heart weak.
Wrought with weeping and laughter
That was my life before and after.

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