Forgotten realms in the grave of ardor,
what has become of my soul?
Jocular life 'neath the tombstone of fervor,
what has become of my soul?

I once weaved a curtain over my pain,
in hopes that this monster, time would tame;
but in his cell he grew and grew,
until his imperious mind,
clashed 'gainst mine and my sanity slain,
no golden flower there remains.
A melancholy gray abode upon me,
a dismal levin shore within me,
cast aside the kind semblance and tore my mind in two;
and with it my heart, torn asunder;
the storm clouds in the offing, and rolling distant thunder.
From a cell my pain birthed a maelstrom,
and with this abject whirlpool, held my soul ransom.

Hie to the wilderness, for no one can tell,
the tor upon which this blatherskite fell.
The trees and rocks here are old;
older than you and I;
older than all of us when we first glanced the sky.
'twas not my ambition to ravage the fields,
'twas not my volition to grovel and yield.
This creature within me has lived for so long,
can go without rest weaving languid songs.
Creature within me, forgive my blindness;
I never sought your scorn or unkindness.
I'll open your door and unfetter your chains,
I'll do this for you if you let me be sane.


Comment:
This is the song I had wanted to submit last night, but was unable to thanks to the new Play engine update. (I managed to get it as an mp3 using stereo mix, resulting in some minor feedback and quality loss [oh well, still better than nothing!]) It's a short and minimalistic piece I composed after reading the above poem, which I had written one month prior to epitomize the last six years of my life. While it's brusque compared to the myriad of things I'd like to say, I hope you'll take it for what it is and enjoy as best you can.