Hound Of Poetry Poet Free verse

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Faun

Oh! - Answered he, who is the sculptor of the forest's soul,
-	I've lived in the songs and myths,  in the hair
Of maidens who romanced me, and in my own nightmare.
There is an ellipsis right between an apotheosis 
That submits the soul to a life-long worship, and a kindred mind.
Worship of what? Ex nihilio? Well, I see myself as no epigone
Of anything, in particular, but everything in general.
I am a hearer of ardent spirits that husband untouchable justice,
A pectus enkindled in thorns and brambles,
A visionary of phantasies in a hidden repository of probity,
Where I bade you to come with me onto this journey,
As I behold you, present before me, awash in
Licentious suggestions, as a well-wisher full of warmth,
And irresistible glow where no assiduity is being judged,
But conveyed when I call you to the helm. 
The intricacies of silence, the ingredients of fatalism, and subordination,
Are characteristics and autonomous tendencies of certitude,
In my view, as I bestow the attributes of intuition that detect darkness,
And the darkness detects the evil you emit, and the evil is
“The thing-in-itself” according to Kant which I ruthlessly deny!
As a contrarian I advocate a different shape of intelligence,
Existent between absurdism and Quixotism, sparking my
Passion, bursting with desire to define eminence,
But leaving you to shape the soul of the forest,
Or good or evil in it, as it is your domain, your knight-errantry,
And I? I am only your occasional, lonely guest.

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