Of coffins that this soul already knew
The anxieties are no longer just purposes
Seed rotting in my gardens
Where can I see the spring?
The beast was not expressed on
Earth became another Agrippina,
Lunatic way in which hallucinations
Hunger unparalleled of the power,
And I can even find a new sun
Where such a gentle mist the scene,
But when the reality thus beckons
With pain and sorrow overshadows this afterglow,
Poet. A messenger of hope?
But voice is losing the emptiness.