The noises of summers glory has long passed from his passions
Oh, lust mocks his endeavor to, once again,
Be held in a grotto’s humble breeze; yet,
what cruelty he feels as the aspirations of hope swing above him!
Now met, only, by the betraying pages of his past.
Madness; spoiled in the bungling tour of his greatness.
Foul absurdity and nothing more has been left in the kindred’s heart.
Heart robbed by foul angel of a foreign heaven,
though, he begs to know of it’s tenderness.
Bliss, looted to the dying distance of nowhere.
Curdled among the pages

of his past, where the golden lights of a new life

may never shine upon him.

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