Phantom Glade
Reason doth consume thee
In thine ever-fading glade
Of subtle dying beauty
Of frozen silent play
The sadness underwhelming
Compared to the cascade
Of screaming, which is nothing
Next to this rotting cage
Why ever did we let go
Of all that we could save
When valour is so lacking
And nobody is brave?
Will thine effigy incorporate
The silhouette of broken glass
As the pieces start reminding
That thine effigy is masked?
And so riddles doth consume me
In mine ever-silent tongue
With the speech of all that’s screaming
From thy ever-bleeding sun
And when sadness can forget me
I will awake to say
That all of this was nothing
In a golden phantom glade
Copyright © Ian Petch | Year Posted 2009
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