Lurking in the shadows - on a groggy
Gas lit night. He, who followed so many
To their deaths, in this age of the machine,
Sits alone, bereft of sight.
He sees the tender white crosses-row-on-row-on-row,
Rising in a whirlwind, on a night of swirling snow,
He hears the creaking branches, catches a whiff,
Of lying Lady Fortune who's a-floating on the breeze,
Pleased he was, immensely. More fool he.
He shows himself to darkness -
To its fondest acolytes -
To death and sin and misery -
On this blackest of coal-black nights.
Gross infirmity of mind
Leaves him gasping in the wake:
Such true and false lucidity
For bitter chaos-sake.
As far as mortal eyes can see:
On this deepest-of-deep--black nights,
Hold their breaths in, tight,
Cling to the merest tincture
Of any old belief.
While gothic visions coagulate;
Time's an ungodly thief.