Ah! But the turbulent cries of the ages
That here fill the mighty pen to wail
With hordes of unfulfilled reasons
And the weight of the mighty Veil.

Tribulations fills the mocking state
the anxiety that so envelopes but the form
Till gnashing is heard and quivering lips express
The guilt of the hearts great storm.

Pathetic creatures we surely become
When the gift of love so out bears our Souls
and lingering in faded anticipated halls
We come to grips with loves bitter blows.

Shudder to think the truth we carry
Each and every mortal, unending story
The faded cloth that once promised the world
Lays in the discarded rags of unfulfilled glory.

Then hearts weary from the toil of life
Begs Death its silent slumber of peace
As if here in the grave we are finally free
From the sacred love, That golden fleece.

Pity the hearts torn ever asunder to
The quickened lip and desirous body
That fast to gate the heart so sallies
To rest amidst loves succulent valleys.

Till soon the eye perceives the lie
and torn from inside it bears its cross
To lay upon the weeping times of breath
And awaits hopefully some peace across.

We gather our world in triumph around us
Hold high our heads to the justification we believe
Yet! We fail the step where love holds the simple promise
And sadly we, but forever the loss, grieve.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph