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Maudlin Of The Well
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Riseth He, The Numberless
Curse the night I was born, as I beheld,
Springeth he like asters from her vicious womb;
She bled mass stars that curs'd all the sky.
Horror bound me against the crags of stone,
And even the Earthquake-Fiends were silenced.
Chain'd to the mountaintop, my heart was rent.
The dandelion was plucked from the sky,
My soul wept as the shadow increased.
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He made to sleep the flowers and the trees,
The beasts all laid down their mighty heads;
Their souls were suck'd dry by the Creation.
What season seizes fast the lyre with balm?
Alas, it is a cloudless, sunless day;
As the world died, I hid myself in tears.
[pt. 2]
A shade of sleep pass'd a veil o'er my eyes,
Not like them...statues of defeat...
...And I dreamt.
In one room I saw a candle,
And in another, a votive wreath.
A candle to pierce the darkness,
And I saw an old man sitting, sitting,
And he was alive!
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