That of stony sleep and vexed nightmare
Closer and closer mother earth embraces,
And my lover’s storm abates,
On a wet rock, as pilgrims we dry in sun;
Asking how well things have come together:
In the sea, near the cape, where the deep-sea sunken reefs,
The jeweled sea tangles, grow on the rocky shore.
In peace and war, a still wind will rise and feel like rhyme,
In soul, like fine peaches or soft beaches;
Which ones are considered just as beautiful? while farther and farther away;
The blood drenched saviours are everywhere to be seen,
in dimmed light’s hide are their pointless anarchical freedoms born and overthrown;
Who will be alive when order is restored upon the world;
Better ones than me, who rejoice in ceremony of the lamb,
And while their ignorance is not assumed and only innocence is saved:
When a vast memory breaks free, just where my girl would lie with me,
My girl who I love with a love deep as the Pacific Ocean, all is lost.
The best of us will in such despair find deep conviction,
when the wind howls and devil sun expose the worst,
And they burned dinosaurs bones and echo reasons,
Mumbled those long forgotten promises,
Broken and full of the grief, echoes of apathies and in apathetic indifference, we will against depressed humanity rise;
Surely some revelation is at hand, surely the Second Renaissance is at hand; The revival of new interest in goodness!
Too softly are those words out: when her gaze sparkled in the fine sun; We slept together only a few wonderful nights and then I had to leave her.
Tell the savior to walk the plain near the bend of the river Nile where the crocodile waits in sun and open sky,
His troubles lost to my sight;
I know butterfly wings beat somewhere near,
And will reveal like sand, slowly falling in the hourglass, that time has not run out;
Not for me or for you, where moon rushes, through drifting clouds in metamorphosis transform, the meek inheritors to lion body on the head of a man:
It was like tearing apart braided vines, I dreamed I was dying,
With the pain of my heart, I long for her, only to look back.
We come to theses dark ages most uncertain, still we must sing,
A merry tune, a lament, an aria or two;
But you go down and find some rest on this stony earth;
ODIN is moving in Valhalla, slowly getting sights, while all about us his warrior’s reel,
Lifting shadows, off with the laughing berserker’s heads, their shields raised;
The darkness here has dropped again; while the weather in Ragnarök is fine;
That of stony sleep and vexed nightmare, a rocking cradle:
When setting sun has left the sky and light grows dim.
I thought I was a brave man,
But my thin sleeve is wet with tears and what rough beasts
Sit in dining hour at table,
come round to feast, at last on me;
slouches are those beast, move away from their dark cave,
devour the light,
Shout I am; reborn I am and not born again.