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Great Writing - Home > Poetry > But who bends the string, if I alone, and in my own right, cannot see through such a cloud as this,
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Poetry
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| But who bends the string, if I alone, and in my own right, cannot see through such a cloud as this, | |
| By Matthiasrising | ||
| 27 February 2008 | ||
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This title is the first line. This is just an experiment with lofty language and strict syllable/rhyme technique. (another old one) But what in this mystery, life that is, shall I remove, Lest I am relieved of all, but that which is worry? Then That, which I, from fate’s hand derive, should my being it move, Will the structure of reality submerge in dark fen. And that, the visor which my will it shrouds, my delusion Does through black abyss, into the cold hand of Wyrd befall. Thus awoken, amidst pain defined by this illusion, I, in mine torment, self-given, have seared my wings and all. Then falling through that, which, as icy chains bound the devil, Restrains all my action within a path as nature deemed, I, beneath that gold string, which snaps under grip of evil- The scissors of death, was lost in faux will I indeed dreamed.
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