In the light of my days-
But tis yet dark,
My heart is black.
My mind trembles-
For the thoughts of rubbles;
Eon of sleep-not in mind,
A moment in the night-not it kind.
In the light we celebrate his cries,
In the dark we mourn his silence.
His presence we stand to miss,
But his absence we live to hiss.
For his peace-we travel,
As beneath our stage is his level.
To a swift journey-nature adds its woes,
A company of debris to once standing edifices.
An elongation of night to the sleeping prince,
And a job of escort to the mourners.