What brings forth a messenger
clouded in fates’ ancient splendor,
to serve me in this grieving
Ask me not the cause why spring delays;
and keeps her buds.
All that wounds I shall heal, -
hast, thou made departing
on the lawless tormented sorrow.
Now proceeding—the purge inflames,
rebellious to change.
Foundations’ laid awaste;
’Twas the ravish’d tongues did mourn
to shape the sphere of those fallen brave,
Blooming from a feast of youth and pride.
Drenched I hath become in punishment, -
were my prayers the sails of my words;
and oft a boat does pass without its owner,
been called beneath the oceans surface
as I in fear am called beneath mine.
And hollow grounds do become the tomb I made;
innocence no longer been the child,
rest upon my hopes and dreams
and find only thinness where warmth
doth not lie, deserving to be cold.
I see her now at the rippled waters edge, -
seeking to breathe me whole
and in my heart unknowingly I have wept;
but know that hope is awoken in such a place.
What I thought was gone could ne’er die
she was my sea and my boat sailed beneath her, -
and I took flight not knowing I had no land
been the water dweller.