A Hymn To the Forgotten

Among thou wistful bask of I, belies a heart of breaking, A mist within a mask of lies, corrupting my soul of eternal aching. Shrouded upon my throne, used to be such exult, A mistress in green, thou maternal of me, relenting to the occult. Doth be slain in misery-same as I, a fallen spirit, Never to accept witchcraft, casted within her sinful louse. Shalt she echo in darkness, within her shadows-to be of hidden, Or enlighten upon us all, in a beam of angels to my glee? Shalt such enigmatic flame wither my ambition, Thrust upon me, is a scene of mangle, bloodless to thee, A storage of barren secrets, never a opening to spare, Nihilities within my heart, consume this storage with despair, Hath I know of Paris, never a soul of which to share Utilities of fallacy, hath I collapse my mind, asunder, “Wither, thou shalt not appoint!” an Orpheus of the master blunder, Yell hath he, he’s worse of will~leaf she goes, thou took no bill, “Cometh now, nest here in hell! Doth be shambled to expel!” Sunset of ages, lest my mother shun these brazes, Shalt I fade for certain pain, a canvas of thou painting, Fallacy of Satan, best my sin, respite be painted, Charging to thou blind of mind, mantis of thou weeping mages. Undeath of these ghostly pages! In spiritual scar I script this hymn, to the forgotten, but only of ephemeral dim, None of remission, but only nest, can make fine my time, a fitting arrest