Condemnavi
In the dim mists, a place exists,
An ancient world that resists,
The ravages upon itself bequeathed,
In the green misty fog in which it is wreathed.
To hide the pool of the never-ending,
That shows of turmoil and the rending.
At once like a spiral tower of a keep,
And with uncounted fathoms it is so deep.
So are the fountain and the pool,
All humane and yet are cruel.
The fountain in the air starts to die,
Then I realize it is I.
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