The Idle Hours have found me out once more,
preyed on my straying thoughts - in murk and mire
you've cast them down in chains; lured by your lyre
they pace across the starless moors and shore.
You candle – like the flame of time you glow -
absorbed, unflinching in your reaping stern -
time's wax your harvest - have I wax to burn
for Idle Hours? say are you friend of foe?
Once more these unembodied voices stir –
sighs from the depths, the legacy of years;
would I could - when their chorus drowns my ears -
could drink forgetfulness, sink in its blur.
Below waves break on these rocks exposed -
foul chaos of rocks, whose handiwork are you?
what deity such monstrous thing could hew?
while skies loom cold in majesty reposed.
The Idle Hours seize souls in limbo lost;
drawn to your misty banks they drink of death,
taste death in life – its chill and burning breath
casts round the edges of their minds grey frost.
The candle draws me back; away from me -
you Idle Hours - soft-summoned by this leisure,
weaving your web of half-indulgent pleasure -
away from me – deceiving luxury.