In such radical youth, I found no shame,
I heeded no hymns of the herald of Hades.
Each act as a sun ray to the endless void,
The streams of the cosmos conducting me along.
What sweet innocence that was when,
life was simple and constant, whole and sin.

Each current lifting and turning by scholars,
livid lights reflecting, capturing Brigit’s beauties.
Enticing their fury from my languid leisure,
My heavy ethereal arm no need convey.
What words they sewn but was not wrought,
forever leaving each as a dark nights dot.

More to lustily engage with wanting eyes,
yet no movement from the indolent arm.
Came a beauty at a distance, unnamed,
I passed it by but yet, there was wonder.
suddenly, came an unsighted frightful screech,
Too late, Too late, Too far out of reach.

The arm sprang to life and fought the black sea,
The current who carry me now bury me.
Now the spiteful syllables impart woeful swells,
That spectral reminiscent of the previous sentiments.
Broken shafts carry Cupid’s remorse,
Clutching those great sages source.

Words tattooed now in my ethereal arm,
Or scarred one; Those much wiser than I.
Words which break current, ignorance,
Which bore my listless laziness that carried me so.
Those streams to be damned and slow,
eventually, forsaken from me and to never flow.

Oh, but why? Why, now must I hurt?
To feel these sudden pains of regret.
St. Jude save these words, this hopeless cause.
“Lend our words, foredoomed friend, fortunate foe,
These lights that shine outwards, cast your shadow,
blanketing the buried beauty, only poets know.”

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