(The Poem With No Name)

Words should never dare describe the agony at thy tainted hand

Words be the mistress to thy soul

Thy soul betrays thee.

Wretched is the language, in which one must be expressed

Daft is the quill that blots down ones note

Oh, the anguish at thy core!

Dispute settles deep within thy heart

Tis an unfortunate matter which causes one’s mind to be stifled by the corrosion of time

Medieval meaning coerced into extinction at intellectual hands

Forever more remains the buried treasure leading into thy soul.

Hidden away from thy waking glance

Nothing left to decipher

Everything is forbearing.

The intrigue of mysterious meaning is lost in the understanding of the many dialects

Leaving the expression of one’s self by the wayside

To struggle with gaping breath from tortured lungs

Filled with pietist meaning

Never to indulge in the glory –


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