(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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