© G.V. 07-26-2013, All Rights Reserved
For seven days he wandered as a ghost,
where his own forms of old dimensions lived;
the times forgot his falsities that heaved,
'mid grayish nimbus and a misty coast.
He walked on sand for lifelong miles and then
the stronghold heights outlined inside the fog
he heard the howl of wolf beyond the bog,
and two pelagic birds that croaked in rain.
The roses dyed. The soldiers died in vain;
uninterrupted was the silent gray,
thus strong the dusk stooped in this mournful day,
- begotten wrong and seeds of malign grain.
Calm, master Death came to enfold him thrice,
forsooth freed cold as for the twenty five
next days the brave has slept upon sky drive,
lost spirit left his winter prayer on ice.
The wounded chords of winds in union harped
the stalwart's solitude resides on graves;
he visioned pastures in his mind's dark caves,
communion in his narrow cell he drank.
© G.V. 07-26-2013 All rights reserved