The Dread of Something

‘Twas on the first forsaken hour

Of morning bleak, I dare say black

‘Twas then that thought’s mistaken powers

Were false imputed things they lack.

Those memories of joy avail

Of darkness, in this task they fail.

Remembrances of rising rays—

Radiant—but provoke the pains.

 

For soon I’ll see those rising rays

Peeking o’er the terrene bend,

And the sun who serves for sizing days

Will measure out this day’s vain end.

Alone I sit without a friend,

With vainly verse profanely penned,

Cursing dawn and dusk as sleep,

My absent ally, awake me keeps.

 

Alas, for even she comes not—

In her I’m also friendship wanting.

Her wanton ways leave me unwrought

With me my heinous horrors haunting,

Through drably clad and shaded night

I hag-like sleep engage in plight.

Men’s mild minds she’ll lay in haze,

But thought her ghost—not pain—it lays.

 

Older days do I remember

When wife with placid wit would with me

Set at naught these nights in November

And set us from all nightmare’s pith free.

Then horrid, wretched sleep did absent

From her profligate comportment

Abandoned—she took on sweeter guise

That did not demise the demonized.

 

That sweeter sleep knew not this hubris,

Immoderate behavior.

No priest can profligate the new miss

Who by her absence makes minds crave her.

And oft she lies upon a man

To abdicate her evil—her plan—

To pass it to that victim’s mind

And fill him with foul dreams of ill kind.

 

But thoughts of old keep me awake,

In wakeful dreams they tell the tales

Of brighter days that yet betake

My heart to darker hellish wails.

That demoness’ demise, it haunts me!

Those visions that she brings, they daunt me!

O how I wish I never knew her!

How I long for the Lethy cure!

 

But sleep, most welcome sleep, will come

And all my corporeal creature still.

My dolor’s demise, my dreams undone—

This my soul shall with the cure fill.

And so I lie awake awaiting

That one wench, the other dreading.

Come most welcome sleep, my friend,

And take me o’er the radiant bend.

Joy is a Whisper

Joy is a whisper in the darkened night of day;

It comes not in the morn’ or when the life of earth be gay.

No, joy is found in the darkest of worldly depths:

In the sweet and lonely crow of a morning cock,

Who’s pleading song awakes the daytime’s breath

With mourning breath and sound that darkness mocks.

In the coldest, darkest hour of nighttime’s reign

Does he first beginning to sing his woeful tune–

That, not till all his unheard calls seem vain,

Awakes fiery Helios to heavenly renew.

 

‘Tis then that somber Selene surrenders her throne

Upon which sits a kingdom ever-changing.

With that the muses ‘cross the land do roam

And in happy folly do begin their singing.

Thus the song of mourning turns to the morning

Song of fools. Who drink their happiness away.

Oh what pleasure is found in the face of a fool smiling

Who fills his fleeting moment with things so gay;

All too soon to find this time of quickness

Has quickly passed him by with chariots’ swiftness.

 

The blissful kingdom now crumbles to utter ruin

As the global tip does flame in brilliant burn,

And as Aeneas’ eyes did once reflect in pain

The Trojan Tragedy by pagan devils spurned,

So the fool onward looks as he sees his kingdom’s  fate

Who’s shortest, worthless reign would not worthed more

Had a thousand times the time of day been t’ rate

Of the death of his foolish pleasure, now his soar.

As darkness once more covers the empty earth

The world waits in silence for the wise cock’s verse.

 

That Joy is a whisper in the darkened night of day;

It comes not in the morn’ or when the life of earth be gay.