Song of Boundless Time

Talking of the night has become a sin.

Myriad legends roam within.

The night is weary of my song.
I have spoken of it for so long

That its silence springs its will like a lion

Upon my heart and devours it.

So, I coalesce into myself.

After all, I know of nothing else.

Death now seeks me from every corner,

But I do not fear the blow of his scythe.

The wheatgrass of my soul has grown long

And golden. Then let him strike.

The crickets are alluring and the wind

Wants a home. I give the wind my words

And it keeps going, compelled to roam.

Heavy now are the words that come.

So I lay them down. 

I sing now of the world and how it left me.

Great are the depths from which these shadows

Romance their way into my eyes.

The moon awaits, bright, in the sky.
God wills me to die.

Wake the eye. Speak easy of the eye.

Sing easy—the night is broken into hours.

Sing easy—lest by the song you are devoured.

Time, boundless time, shapeless time, virgin world

Of time’s beginning, what have you to offer?

This inexpressible urgent prayer I give to time

To master with its perfect pendulum, its endless

Paean of creation. Wave upon wave of time

Carrying the offal of existence upon the shores

Of chaos and putrefaction. Immutable time,

That owns the frontier of tomorrow and tomorrow

And all the yesteryears.

The crickets are alluring and the wind

Wants a home. I give it this home, the song

Of tomorrow, a song of suffering unbeknownst
To God, and He shall never know, for the song

Belongs to time, and time

Suffers nothing of the Lord.

Exiled prince of the shadow, come

Converse with me! A wageless war

Is being waged upon the sea of time.

A vanguard symphony is being played

Beneath the poplar trees in the key of time,

And will be played for eternity!

The wind comes and moves through the trees

Seeking sustenance, a song of eternity.

I give my song to the wind, which forevermore

Sings its epiphany of time, boundless time,

Echo-less time, shapeless time, virgin world

Of time’s beginning, what have you to offer?

Home, the boundless frontier of life,

And the eternal resting place of my song’s sepulcher.