Above the world


    the ghostly suns have


    burned out


    like candles guttering


    in the night.


    In the ascendant skies,


    there succeeded a fugitive light,


    stretched out like a scar


    across the navy-stained


    heavens.


    I belong to those wayward ideals


    Once known, or once suspected,


    That exist no more for man.


    I drove them from paradise,


    a burning blade forever


    barring the way.


    Sometimes I am glimpsed by dreamers


    Whose eyes have not been blinded


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.By the hell-lamps


    of their fallen decadence.


    In me you''ll find lost dreams;


    the pale desire


    Whose eyes have looked on madness,


    Their own faltering light inverted;


    the vanity that only tells of


    love and hope.


    Like a song


    Heard from afar,


    imperishable beauty calls


    Out of the mist and rain


    across the limitless sea,


    Like the silent silver


    song of the faded phantom moon.


    When the night is blind,


    a golden memory falls,


    Never to rise again.


    Voice of the leaves that die,


    Whisper and sigh


    Of gardens waning,


    imperfect, and forever-decaying


    facsimiles of Eden,


    their hollow lights


    slowly fading into the night.