Although the Day
Although the day is lit pristine,
By Helios above the green,
In splendour overarching all,
I wrestle with a pall.
Although the day wouldst rouse from clay,
Sweet flowers to redeem my way,
And lend a touch of hope withal,
I stumble in a pall.
Although the day in sweetness lands,
Presenting cheer to shadowlands,
With paradisic rays that fall,
I falter by a pall.
A witch’s hand upon my heart,
Prodigious black and hitting smart,
Accursedness I cannot stall,
My senses in a pall.
A circle cast in ages vast,
The poison in a sick repast,
By this device of hell I stall,
I cannot lift the pall.
A prison made of godless hands,
Obedient to hell’s commands,
About my frame a blackened shawl,
An unbecoming pall.
Although the day is bright delight,
With lakes to charm my every sight,
The barbs that visit start to gall,
And render me a pall.
Although the beasts peruse in bliss,
Beside the stream’s hypnotic hiss,
I summon naught of wherewithal,
I’m sinking by a pall.
Although the birds carouse in mirth,
I feel an emptiness and dearth,
The winds of fate a bitter squall,
A terrifying pall…
adamdaniel 