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By John Lars Zwerenz


I have decided to publish this final volume of my verse in this life freely and without any cost to its readers, students, young people, all others, poetry lovers and the like. You all have plenty enough to pay for in this world. I believe my vocation as a poet was chosen for me by God to serve my fellow man out of a spirit of humble service to the common good. May God love you all and bless each and every one of you.

John Lars Zwerenz, June, 2021

This Book is Reverently Dedicated To Mary, The Immaculate Mother of God


Moaning reverberates within the halls;
Candles flicker eerily on cold, stone walls.
Behind an old bookshelf souls do plea
Where they are engraved
To be set free.
Yet no one shall be saved
Within these castellated towers
Nor shall they behold the florid, galden bowers
Of the merciful sun -
No - no one.

For within one chamber a piano plays;
Its keys are caressed by ghostly fingers
In the ancient parlor where a melody lingers,
A nebulous hymn of stony grays
Floating on the air to the window’s veil.
The musician, once lovely, is now deathly pale.

Why does it seek me, this concerto of gloom
Which fades on the glades beneath the room?
Who is this wraith who wears the face
Of the wife I knew in a happier time
When I would weave my sunlit rhyme
So very very long ago
In the bright, sweet boons of a summery place?
I am haunted by the tune she plays with grace
Now, as then,
Dying on the dales below
On the reedy, dismal glen
Through the dreadful, dark haze of the half opened window….


I often have this strange and poignant dream
Of a lady fair who is sweet and dear;
A beautiful maiden of yesteryear,
She kneels with reverence beside a stream.

And then in the night she comes to me,
In the moonlit mountains, tender, of the spring,
Which inspire songbirds in the trees to sing,
In a minor tone, near the fountains by the sea.


I ventured out beneath the pale
Oceanic sky in the summery heat;
My thoughts were of my lover, soft, discreet,
When I found her dreaming on a rosy dale.

Her eyes were dark and of ancient lore;
They shimmered like diamonds in the gilded lights,
And beamed like streams from angelic nights,
From that lovely Carolingian gaze she bore.


On soft, autumn evenings, I shall wander
Beyond the old village to the yellow plains,
To the lush, green hillsides over yonder;
I shall drink from paradise mystic rains.

And when the moonlight glitters on the trees
I shall pray to Mary upon the grass
There by her shrine, seen only by the breeze,
As clouds in the sunset serenely pass.


How I did grieve
When my lover did leave…
Why? - She did not say…
She faded into the nebulous mist
Of our final, shaded, silhouetted tryst
One cold and wintry, December day.

Beneath a lantern aglow,
I watched her go
Into the dusky gray
Walking away
On the still and ivory moonlit snow.

Now I weep, not knowing
A tear does always grace my eye.

(The wind keeps blowing,
Low and high.)

Of all of life’s sorrow
The worst is to die
To the joys of yesterday, now and tomorrow
Never knowing why
My heart has all this sorrow….


In a hushed lament, in December I go
Beneath bare boughs in the wild air
Which swirls in torrents, everywhere,
As I wander like a wayward leaf in the snow.

Meanwhile the wind weeps dolefully
In the languid dusk of the winter chill
Forming ivory wreaths on the pearl white hill
Speaking your name - to torture me.


I ventured out in the dew at dawn,
To the florid countryside,
Walking on an emerald lawn,
Dreaming of a youthful bride.

There brooks of blue,
Lit by the sun,
Ran flowing through
Gardens and glades.
One by one,
In the scented boon
Of amaranthine shades,
I discovered at noon
And did behold
Forested promenades
And gilded glades of splendid gold.

Then I came upon a marble square,
Where a princess roved, with sable hair;
(She was dressed in an ancient, lovely style.)
There were rhapsodies in her diamond eyes,
And moonbeams in her silver smile.

Then the rays of the amber sunlight,
Ascended with a redolent breeze,
As our impassioned sighs
Reached their flowery height
In the canticles of the turquoise skies,
In the sacred cello of our ecstasies.


The grasses swayed
Not far from the sea
As a piano played
In a maiden’s lonely Victorian room.

A mist did settle amid the gloom
In the cryptic bower
Devoid of any flower
Beneath her purple, curtained window.

Then, massive, high and low,
A baleful fog did slowly caress
Her castle’s gray and teeming wall.
And in a profound and dark distress
The fair maiden paced
Down the long hall.

She was clad in a long, white, glittering dress,
With hanging, Patrician, ruffled sleeves.
Where orphic voices the wind bequeaths
In shades and shadows of the barren wood,
Amber, fallen leaves
Formed round, deathly wreaths
Beneath dead boughs where the linden trees stood.

She wept against the old, stone wall
For her long lost lover,
There in the hall
Where a demon leers,
Where cold and unlit chandeliers
Speaks of only death when dead stars hover;

Then suddenly she heard the tune in her cell;
It sailed like a ghost -
A melodic, dreary host,
Casting upon her a dreadful spell;
As it filled the slender corridor,
It instilled in her a terror
She never knew before.

And the nascent night arose
Outside of all time
And the stars that were dead
Howled behind the clouds with grief and dread.
Then the dusk did close
Yet the moon did shine
Upon the figure in her haunted room
Who played that grisly, malevolent air
Which brought horror to her heart,
And to her soul complete despair.
For she beheld a man who from life did depart,
A wraith her eyes could only abhor:
Her long lost lover - alive once more.
Then he spoke as his gaze renewed his spell;
And the pale half moon
Arriving too soon
Enlightened his face as an angelus did knell:
“Welcome my dear - to the nethermost hell!”


In the clouded, dusky afternoon
As you hear the clang of a swaying bell
The rising ring of its dreadful knell
Ascends to the dreary, lifeless moon.
As cryptic winds through dead boughs pass
Below one tombstone's familiar name
Another soul the demons claim
Beneath grim reeds and yellow grass.
And when dawn arrives with miasmic dew
Upon the wanton meadow and its horrid grave
A being there moans, too late to save -
None other than the likes of you!


In the still, sanguine peak
Of an Autumn sunset
When russet and meek
Wilting reeds are wet,
Cold, silver stars of the nascent night
Gleam upon the graves
Like the glitter of billowy, cryptic waves.

Now and then, here and there,
Black bats dart
In the thick, dead air;
With their burial shrouds gleaming bright,
Phantoms depart
From their caskets in the night.

Assembling in a misty mass,
They pace upon the amber grass,
Passing beneath the decaying oak trees,
Its dead and cryptic barren boughs,
In the cradle of the haunting breeze,
Out of sight,
Delivered from their purgative plight
At this time which God allows.

Yet one dark being was left behind,
Despairing in his tortured mind
Over dire crimes which he committed.
The bats around him cursed as they flitted.

And in an insatiable, feral, horrid state
Of infernal gluttony
Where it is far too late,
(Where Satan swallows damned men whole)
Where one can not escape the fiery sea,
Those ghosts threw into the deepest hell
As the devil’s laughing bells did knell
One wicked, hopeless, empty soul -
None other than the likes of me!


She passes through a courtyard's gate
Amid a throng of crimson shades
Shrouded in her mysterious state,
Pacing upon the barren glades.
And every stone on which she does tread
Beneath the solitary moon, wintry and round
Emits beneath her vacant gazes
A dreamy sort of silent sound.
For in the eye of my my mind she still amazes
With a loathsome and fearful, fiery dread.
And my heart she emblazes -
Although she is dead.


Dews on wilted petals, ephemeral hopes which die
Wrap around frozen trees, as white, thorny briars;
In the miasmic air
In the moonlit square
A fountain, forgotten, does lament and cry
And starlessly expires.

Next to the dreadful, solitary park
A breeze blows forsaken, ominous and dark,
Consuming the night, and its prescient fires.

Two dead figures raised from below
Wander on the glades, the dales and the wheat;
One wraith asks the other in the still of the snow:
"Does your heart still beat
To my heart's beating?" - "No."
They walked among reeds and grasses that were dead.
And they passed as ghastly spouses, no longer entwined,
As their forms were cloaked by mists, nebulous, unkind.
And the night alone heard the words they said.


When the nascent moon descends over the old, stone towers
Of your castle on the hillside, beyond the emerald glades
A breeze carries the hymn of your name as it softly serenades
The stream that rushes by me where I stand among the bowers.

I will grant you roses from the sea and its scarlet bays,
And as a lover's fragrant, eternal souvenir,
Their perfumes shall embrace you, my only love, my dear,
And heaven I will show you, in timeless, mystic ways.


A rosy faced charwoman knelt down to scrub
As I walked into a seaside, ancient, English pub
Where sailors sat around mahogany tables
Drinking brownish ale, and telling Saxon fables;

The scent of mignonette mixed with thyme
Descended from holly and mistletoe.
As I reclined in a booth weaving my ryhme,
I dreamt of a square where a stream did flow.

And in the beer scented thick of the drunken din,
I saw a princess with flowers in her hand
Kneel beside a shrine, as sunlight graced the land.
And lo and behold, that same sun shone in
And touched the sailors’ heads and hearts
With Mary’s love and Cupid’s darts.


One lone tree in the corner of the graveyard
Seemed in the deep, pale, solemn night
Not to share in nature’s natural light.
Its bark was black, forbidding and hard.

Its barren boughs wavered in the wind which grieves
Silently, thick, morose and dour;
And for some
The dreaded, solemn withches’ hour
Had come
Arriving like a ghost in its dark, dead leaves.

And then without warning,
That hour with its tree swallowed me whole,
Into a base of rotten wood.
And as the clouded day was dawning
With hatred it stole
Every fragment of my soul
As much as its clutching branches could.


As I remember it was the spring,
And every creeping rustling
Of each long veil which cloaked my window
Swayed like a ghost, to and fro.

A bat did flutter in the light
Of the clouded, dead moon which hid the night
From any semblence of anything bright.
And as a fire grows from flame to flame -
Sudennly in the horrible wind
In the morbid moan of a tamarind
I heard HER name….

The bride I killed one autumn day
When her fair, white back was turned away,
And now I live within a room,
Forever gone from the outer world
Where eternal terror is unfurled -
Sleeping in her horrid tomb!


I sailed long enough upon the ocean,
Too bitter to sip, the brine was always cold.
I witnessed my ship descend in the old,
Fierce Atlantic, with a desperate emotion.

In two days time
I awoke on the English shore
Not knowing how I survived the wreck.
And of my mates
From the baleful and torrid, grim effect
Of the billows’ violent crime
There remained no more.

I began a course eastward on a splendid steed
Traveling over hills and glades and roads.
I was guided by my orphic dreams
Where holly green hills met purple abodes,
Where many rustic, azure streams
Seemed to befriend me
As they gratefully did lead
My horse and me from the baleful sea.

Suddenly it came to my stark awareness
That the ancient, English sun had met the night,
And my gelding quivered as the moon did rise
Over the carmine colored, British skies.

So having to harness
My horse in the moonlight,
I slept near Bath, in a piney wood.

Bats circled my psyche, and doing what I could,
I did not wait for dawn to ascend.
So beside a mound where the grasses did bend
Beneath the firmament, flushed with every cloud,
I soon found myself near the town of Shroud,
In a place called Staple Hill.

I ventured forth
Over lush, emerald glades of the daffodil.
And going further north
I approached a Gothic manor, massive and old
Where no lights were to be seen in its many windows,
Where no breezes stirred its ponds where no water flows.

And I heard in that darkness only the din
Of the moaning, wintry cold
Which appeared to have an eternal hold
On the gruesome loneliness which I could see lied within.

No warmth was to be had in the forest outside,
So tying up my steed, I approached the main gate
Of the ancient mansion where the sun, too late
No longer shown there
A tangible mystery did indeed reside.

My footsteps rang heavily on the gray marble floor,
As I passed over the threshold beyond the old, oak door.
The foyer was vast,
And after so many years
Only the past
Claimed all my fears.
And all of those souls whom I loved and love still
Beset me with a nebulous thrill
Like a throng of ghosts
Unseen, but there.

Phantom-like hosts
Seemed to move through the air
Descending down a staircase where
Dreadful candles upheld by no hand
Resembled Satan’s contraband.

And finally reaching the upper floor,
I noticed the plaster upon the walls
Bled like spirits damned in the halls.
Then I slowly opened a solitary door. -

And within that chamber in terror I did see
The woman that once did marry me.
And in my horror knowing that she was dead,
I heard her speak in my state of dread:
“Mark me well,
You have indeed entered hell!”

And the night alone heard the words she said.


One night in December I proposed
To my fair, dear love who held my hand
In a silent glade, by the sea and sand
Although her soul was of one that was closed.

“Be gone!” was my maiden’s hushed reply
As a red moon rose above the dale;
Her mood was livid and her countenance was pale,
Such as people look who are about to die.

Her bosoms did burn beneath her dress,
As a thirsty vampire in the making.
But they never gave off a pleasant scent
When my soul was in distress
And my heart was aching.

And so she walked into the chill of the dark,
Where the wintry reeds were tall and the grasses were bent,
Into the breeze where a haunting tremelo
Sailed through the aspen tress where a lark
Witnessed her death,
Her final breath
Taken in the horrid snow.


I can not express
My loneliness,
My sadness
Which does never sleep.
I can not cry,
I wish I could weep.
I try and try.
But no. -
The fog
By the bog,
It wavers high and low.
The deep, dour sky,
And utterly black
Has fallen like a stone
Upon my naked back
As the wind howls like a baleful hawk
In my isolated zone.
I can not think, I can not talk -
I simply walk.
I walk


In the still of her bedroom
Candles on her mantles glow.

They quiver and gleam
As a demon does dream
In the fog near the sheets
Which cover her window.

And on the terrace where she meets
The solitary moon,
The nascent night
Arrives too soon
With gloomy clouds,
Traversing the firmament.
Like burial shrouds -
All death is permanent.

A hopeless sinner moans and dies
And is banned as he crosses the despairing skies
In silence over the wintry dales
Where the last of the sunlight
Perishes and pales.

And in Ophelia's lifeless, stony gray eyes
There dwells no sadness
No sobs, no cries,
As she retreats into her chamber of mortal sin.

A wanton madness
Wanders through the rattling din
Of her vacant soul,
Unchaste, unwhole,
As a baleful breeze
Sails through her hallway as a dark disease.

For evil reigns whenever it allows
The laughs in her head.
For her husband lies dead -
Damned in a lake of scarlet red,
Where he lies stabbed twice in a bath of fleas
Outside below the boughs
Of Satanic, black and leafless trees.


Shall I taste the soil of death
When the bark is lifted
From the shell of my canoe?
For after I exhale my final breath
I must offer up all that was gifted
Prior to rising into a state I never knew.

Shall I swallow with my mouth
That unhallowed earth
Falling quickly south
Departing from the finite route
Which began at birth
Before my soul shall be cast out
Into that realm of terrible doubt?

Or if, by Christ, may He choose to spare me
From that awful union with the mire
Be it with ice or be it with fire,
Not to be condemned to my requiem's attire,
To the baleful, endless, briny sea.
And if it be so
I shall escape from that fate
Before it be too late
Never to go
Into my rest
It will only be so at Our Lady’s bequest.

Yes, It will surely be due
To The Virgin Mary's merciful desire
To raise me into the blissful blue,
While cheating a hell so black and dire.

One cold and forsaken February night
If my tortured mind remembers right
In the thick, morose and isolated dark,
In one accursed corner of a dreadful, dreary park
(More horrible to conceive and see
Than any specter from a terrible dream)
A demon named Satan smiled in a moonbeam
Beneath the bare boughs of a solitary aspen tree.
And no one being other than me
Witnessed that specter there where he stood.
In an ecstasy of fear, I attempted to flee
From that baleful and black, cryptic wood.
But that fallen angel, the evil one
Followed my steps with a glutenous glee
Above the mounds of the park, below the firmament’s sea,
Beneath the dead sun,
Through a wild throng of fallen leaves,
Over a frozen, sickly pond
Surrounded by grasses where a gale still grieves.
Alone into the aura of a baleful beyond,
My spirit moaned and lament-fully did depart
Into heaven’s righteous hell
Where Satan’s wrathful, binding spell
Grasping, instilled
Within my empty, sullen heart
A deep and profound, eternal despair.
For his terrible touch,
His clutch,
It killed
My soul in that grim and horrid realm
With Satan at the grisly helm -
The spirit of the air!
Beneath shaded boughs, a lifeless maze
Among several thin and solitary lanes
Of moss covered benches near the displays
Of corpses alive beneath the skies which died
Spoke of perdition in malevolent ways.
Then, in an instant, I began to know pains
As the ground beneath me opened wide
A reedy, mystical door
Which in all of my existence,
I never saw before.
And at Beelzebub’s insistence
With sharp, grasping fingers,
I was taken under the grassy floor!
Now only my name does forever echo
Carried in the nebulous, wanton breeze,
Sobbing as it lingers,
Wailing to and fro,
Over the tombs,
The sepulchers, the death rooms,
Clothed with miasmic rats and fleas.
For that demon brought me far below
Any hope of attaining life’s banished chance.
And now he smiles, proudly in the dark
With his lifeless, red eyes
Grinning with a glance
Below the bane of the pale and starless skies,
Over the glades of the massive park
Where my damned soul cries
And my living body lies.
And this demon so proud
Eternally laughs
As I contrive to uncloud
In fiery baths
The flames which consume me,
Punishing each and every deliberate transgression. -
In despair I make a futile confession.
In an astonishing, stark and blackened sea
Of hopeless, despairing, infernal dins
Which emanate like blood from my many sanguine, mortal sins
I am steeped in scorching, burning ice;
Abysmal company now forever I keep
As I gnash my teeth and pitifully weep,
Praying this nightmare will come to pass.
But alas! -
It is far too late to escape the never ending price,
And my soul burns whole below the snow covered grass.
Meanwhile, up comes the moon; The park
Lights up the mist which clings to the bark
Among the many demons, dreaming in the dark.


In the vast, haunted wood, beside the sea
The wind, it sobs
My heart, it throbs
In agony.
On the grass clad plain of the dusky lit knoll
A death bell begins to drearily toll
Near the foot of a hill
Where I have come to die.
And do what I will,
I can not deny
That a malevolent ghost there awaits my soul
To swallow it whole
In the blood-red sun,
Where the very air and death are one,
Beneath the cruel and cryptic sky.


The scented boughs did sing and sway
Like gems upon a ring one wintry day
In a wooded grove of holly green.
(Two ghosts there rove through tall reeds unseen.)

The graveyard pines to the indistinct sky,
Possessed with nebulous tints of blue.
Its dead souls claim to hate or to love you,
As silver stars ascend, to lament and cry.

Yet one spirit beheld the essence of you.
He weeps in the darkness suspended in rue,
Recalling bright days when your fair eyes did shine
Like ethereal spells of white, wondrous wine.

And the two lovers walked among the tombs in the grass;
As the cold moon ascended along with the winds,
Weaving through every boxwood, the oaks and tamarinds,
Its haunting light did eventually pass,
As the breezes wavered high and low.
And some say these wraiths have been seen to come and go -
When the December sunset descends and bleeds,
Passing in the mists, on the slender, dead reeds.


I shall tread amid tall trees, upon soft grass
Beyond bright meads, in breezes which pass
Through throngs of daisies, weaved with grace
On fall afternoons, with a sailor's pace.

I shall not ponder or pause to think,
But without any cares, on a trail, walking slow
In the boons of a carefree, reedy bliss
In a gilded wood I shall happily go.
Through redolent roses, carmine and pink,
I search for a duchess whom I long to kiss.

For I have seen your black mane in the autumnal rain,
In the tower of a castle, clad with ivy and stone,
Possessing a heart the same as my own,
Living for love and bereft of all pain.

Your somnolent airs glide to the autumnal curtain:
The veil which introduces the perfumes of your florid bower
Which climb your castle's wall in the still of a solemn hour,
Makes your dear heart tremble for your dreams are certain
Of the approaching balm of your troubadour's kiss.
(And more than merely this.)
Your melancholic melodies tap like tears upon the panes,
And outside upon the misty lanes
Where one can live devoid of pains.
You can feel your lover's touch in your heart which sighs.
Your ardor ascends to heaven, above the blue, French skies
Where the love in the waters of his chivalric gaze
Falls into the pools of your dark, brown eyes
As tranquil, foaming, wistful bays.

And when soft breezes sail over your castle's towers
In perfumed stills of monastic hours
I see you approach the forest beyond
The marble square and the azure pond.

Your face is pale, and your spirit is dead,
And hardly can your words be said;
Although they speak of eternal love,
They pierce not the sky which weeps from above.

Yet your eyes resemble paradise,
As winter approaches with its pearl white snow.
I have seen you gaze at me more than twice,
Dreaming of heaven, your braids in a bow.


I once ventured north, beyond my stay at Harvard Yard,
Far north of Boston, in a carriage warm with a leather hide.
Snow descended beyond the black curtains outside.
And the forested roads became white and hard.

For three lonely days and nights,
Riding through New Hampshire’s woods and glens
I witnessed no welcoming inns nor lights,
Nor happy boughs nor sunlit gardens.

Only darkness fell in long silhouettes which lined the rustic lanes,
Amid grim, purple shades of many dead trees.
A cry was heard, carried on a moaning breeze,
And ghosts became visible, writhing in their eternal pains.

Farm dogs in the distance began to howl and weep;
Bats began to assemble beneath branches which shook
Casting my coach in a throng of snow beside a frozen brook.
And grisly wanton spirits left the crypts they keep.

Suddenly midnight fell upon the plains.
Witches were seen to walk in the forest among the glades.
Blackness engulfed my carriage in the poisoned shades,
As I entered upon a realm of pains.

The last thing my mind can clearly recall
Is my body waking on the snow clad grass.
My coach was gone, and the moon did pass.
And my face is one of a dead man’s pall!


The death houses gleam like dimly hued stains
As the summer sun rises through the barren linden trees,
Illuminating the varied colored panes
Where the cobwebbed, morning light,
At one with the matin breeze,
Exhales the dust over slabs of stone
Which sleeps with the empty eyed skulls
Signifying what it means to be utterly alone.


A discordant tune,
Mellifluous and melancholic,
Rises to the sullen moon.

And the vitriolic,
Sudden night
Blossoms over the graveyard’s height,
Receiving every soul that is lost.

There the briars in the breezes are gently tossed.
And the barren, haunted boughs sway ominously,
In every torrid myrtle tree,
As a solemn requiem can be heard in the dark,
Within the vast and loathsome park.


Once, at dusk, in the pregnant hush of a late October evening,
Deep in a forest, when the nascent moon like a ghost did grimly sail,
When all the leaves in barren boughs were no longer cleaving,
I carried on foot, leaving my horse in the thickness of a sick and reedy dale.

On the fair, and sacrosanct, conquered land
I witnessed blood in the ancient earth,
Of a Turkish red in the gleaming birth
Of the stars where the Hun, with sword in hand,
Swept like fire through this dire glade.
[Moans from the dead refused to fade.]

I approached a vast castle, cloaked in tall trees;
Near and far, the emptiness of the wood,
Carried its baneful and dark disease
As I walked where I could
In the miasmic breeze.

Its parapets made a jagged line
Against the carmine, setting sky - its stark and ancient, black decay
Seemed to kill all of autumn’s plaintive day
With every surrounding bough and leaf
Sobbing like a dreadful wine,
Hopeless and despairing in their solemn grief.

I witnessed then, from behind the main door
A gentleman in black approach with a step
Which rang in the opening of the passageway;
He seemed to thirst for something more
Than to greet me in that dusky day.
He introduced himself as Baron Von Lepp.
And his red eyes did gleam
As in a furious dream.

His handshake was cold,
And older than old.
As he motioned me in
Amid the mountainous din,
Where wolves and ravens made their pleas
To the starless sky, by the lifeless seas.

I ascended a long and circular stair
In the dusty, wicked, stifling air.
And upon entering a baleful, horrid room
I laid upon a bed of gloom.
And felt myself die - forever to be there!

“Come out,” he said with a gleeful tone
In his hollow voice with a devilish moan.
“For you know very well
That you have indeed entered hell!”

And I saw a fire ascend into the air
And a chain with a stone. -
And only the night alone
Was a witness to my stark and eternal despair.


The roseless gardens and their old, iron fence
Are open for my little, wandering stroll.
I shall dream of death upon a path of stone,
As the passing hours of the old clock toll.

In those moaning breezes I do not walk in bliss,
Through those spacious bowers I rove hunted and alone,
Searching for a glorious princess!
And with all the dead flowers that I behold,
Whether once red or ivory, yellow or gold,
I shall attempt to flee from the black, dour sea
From its creeping dew,
From each drop of its despondency,
Born of balconies which sob at night,
In the long silhouettes of a languid moon.
I shall bequeath to them all my crimson fright.
And I shall lament with them in the joyless noon;
Lacking all nobility, the long avenue
Is cursed with shadows and is most lifeless,
Of a grave and hellish hue.

I recline
In the reeds, in their miasmic wine
Near the soundless,
Blackened pool
Where a symphony dies in its lightless depths.

In the wandering summer breeze,
Baleful and cool,
A princess sleeps
In a throng of grasses,
Beneath the barren linden trees.

And as daylight passes,
She lies like Ophelia, drifting in her mind
With ghastly affections of a ghostly kind.

And as I approach her, ever so near,
I gather wilted blooms from the belvedere.
Awake to your prince, my wife to be,
Awake to the gloom of the sky above,
For we have both died and the haunted sea
Shall swallow us whole, my dear,
My love!


Tall, sallow reeds
Color my psyche
As my spirit bleeds
By the barren beach
Where the undulating sea
Holds promises of hope
Which are far beyond reach.

All happiness abates,
As my final fate awaits
At the end of a tighly wound rope.

And in the whim of the breeze,
Like a wayward leaf,
Beneath dead trees,
My heart full of grief,
Beneath the gloomy sky
Through the chill of the frozen snow
I slowly go -

To die.


The duchess reclined on her purple divan
Smoking in her chamber, overlooking her bower below
And placing her embroidered diary in her credenzo,
She gazed beyond to the meads where the wan
Grasses played in the palm of the tepid breeze.
The winds rose up through the boughs of the poplar trees,
Rising to her bastion’s walls, to the turrets,
Caressing its ashy parapets,
When, suddenly, in despair she witnessed on her knees
A harbinger of perdition:
A most dreadful apparition;
For through her windows’ flowing curtains came
A fallen angel bearing an infamous name.
His figure spread out like a lifeless cloak
Over the carpet of her room
In the solitary, October gloom
Arising from the wood,
From a leafless, lonely, accursed oak.
And doing all she could,
She did not succeed in breaking free
As she ran in horror down the stony stairs
In the terrible, Zaroastrian airs
Of Beelzebub’s firey, infernal black glee.
Now she sleeps in a tomb
In the soil at her castle’s feet.
And every souless soul that she does meet
Resonates only wailing - and her womb
Carries naught but a black and perpetual fear
As demons whisper in her ear.


Once, in the darkness of a forsaken mountain,
When the moon died above me like a dead, dried fountain
I witnessed my soul descend into hell.
And feeling only terror I fell and could not tell
As demonic eyes were gleaming
And red -
If I was awake or merely dreaming -
Or dead…


Clothing the barren, wintry land,
The dismal, endless, haunted plain -
A blizzard blurs the meads, the glades, the terrible terrain;
And as the snows descend,
Demonic eyes
They gleam like sand.
And the lows and highs
Of the fountain in the end
Illumines naught but a moonless sky,
With no beacon of light.
Are the stars to grow dim,
And perish tonight?

For all seraphim
Have left the vales,
In the woods, close by.
The gloomy silhouettes betray
Their shadows on the graves.
A farm dog wails
In the distance - to the firmament’s gray
And the haunted, darkened enclaves
Are more than eerie to the sight.

As my bating breath fails
In the terrible void of the plaintive night,
There! - over the hill of many a dead and sallow reed
A ghost arises on the mead
To claim my soul, to take me below.

Oh, astonishing scene,
My woe! -
The winds are cold, merciless and mean.
As I witness dead men, hanging from ropes
Amid branch and leaf -
Buried are all my hopes,
And I moan
Alone -
In my eternal grief.


The months and years, they pass me by.
Milady in your tower on high
Looks down below
From your curtained window
To a broad, fresh plain of December’s snow.

Beneath the moon of the emerald spring,
In the spacious courtyard where angels sing,
Where redolent breezes weep and sigh,
I shall place on your finger a wedding ring
Milady, my love, in your chamber on high.


In an ancient castle, grim and dark,
Where candles flicker in corridors
Above the bogs, not far from the moors,
Surrounded by a leaf barren park
A ghost does wander, clad in chains.
She is a prisoner there.
And in despair
She voices her falsely spoken claims
That she was an innocent soul
Who never did stray
From the holy and pious righteous way;
Yet perdition has swallowed her spirit whole,
Casting her within the cold, stony walls,
For all the dreary nights and days.
Now the moon rises
And gilds the halls
Uncovering her disguises
Revealing this woman in the dress she wore
Long, long ago
In summery, golden, Patrician balls.
This dreary dress marks baleful decrees
Now transformed into her burial shroud -
Where banished felicities
Are not allowed.
And the bitter breezes blow
Into her hair and down her nape,
Into the open, wavering, miasmic gape
Of her dead and darkly curtained window
Carrying neither hymns nor light
In the ancient castle - in its eternal night.


The autumn leaves are falling
From each and every moonlit bough.
O, how little time does time allow
For us to reach our calling.

The diamond stars are silently keeping
Their ancient course over reedy dales.
As the sunlight, grieving, slowly pales.
The swollen streams which flow are weeping.

Yet sorrow is a precious gem.
It fortifies our fragile being,
Transforming blindness into seeing -
For all sad souls - for all of them.

For surely secret pains do cure
Our weak humanity by making pure
Our pining hearts which rebel and complain -
While God is drying all the rain.


I came and went as me did please,
Amid the flowers, in the light of the spring,
Roving through fields with a careless ease,
To a courtyard fair, where I did sing.
In the summer's heat or in the winter's face,
I came and went as one might grace
A regal wedding, or a gilded ball.
I danced in the haze of a waterfall.
Yet now the wind is my only brother.
Its egregious chill is the one thing I know,
As a throng of rice is thrown for another,
Into the somnolent grave I go.
Death, why do you seek me,
When I have never thought of you?
Why should you engross me so completely
That me must say adieu, adieu?


Now that I have wandered through the darkest of hells
Where the cheer of sunny wedding bells
Could never be heard to happily knell,
It is time to speak of paradise, it is time to speak of heaven well: -

God’s beautific bliss is of canticles,
It is of a sublime and golden sea
Of victorious love, for you and for me,
For Our Maker of miracles
Who Is and Who will forever be
Christ, The King of peace,
The Lamb of downy, radiant fleece -
Forever a Son of rapsody!
His Beloved Father is of the wondrous rain
Which graces cathedrals and spires of joy.
There all tears are dead, and naught is of pain.
The Holy Spirit in His rapture there perpetually doth reign
In the hearts of every girl and boy! -
For we are all but children there, snug in His woolly hand.
And the breezes which touch the luminous trees
Increase our solemn ecstasies;

There embraces are chaste, as is every kiss
Endowing our souls with unspeakable bliss -
As crystal silk in that eternal land.


The willows sway,
Over the sea,
With a languorous, rapturous ecstasy.

You vanquish me with one
Glance of your mellifluous cadence,
Which pours forth like honey in the diamond sun,
From the silky radiance
Of your dark brown eyes and a raven tress,
Which graces your fair neck as a sable lace.

You grace heaven’s ground in an alabaster dress,
In the holy vestibules of your sacred palace,
In your joyous marble squares,
Where glorious fountains
Rise in the aromatic airs
Beneath the purple dome
Of your Queenly home
Surrounded by a wreath of diamond mountains.

You have conquered me, my beauteous Queen.
And I am never to be the same.
You're bosom is a dew-clad meadow,
Safe and soft, and most serene;
And I go as one lost in a troubadour's dream,
Mystified by your reverent name,
Beside a descending, turquoise stream.

The radiant perfumes of your pearl-white hands
Are sweeter than all Elysian lands,
And your loving bands
Are more exalted to serve as a slave in eternity
Than it would ever be
To rule over all of the world’s kingdoms, its regimes, the plains, the sea.

And so I go with hymns of thee
Rejoicing deep within my heart, ferrying to your home,
With boundless bliss and felicity,
Nevermore to roam
Like a wanton, mad sailor on the wild brine.

Your kiss is of an immaculate, thrilling, sanctified wine,
And your look is of a statue's gaze:
Solemnly bewitching, of a royal, regal woman's wondrous ways,
Who walks as a goddess, beneath the lindens and the birch,
In the splendors of the cloisters, in the courts by the Cathedrals,
In the fragrant, glorious umbrage of your eternal, triumphant, Catholic Church,
Where all of your crytal citadels
Are of a lover's tender reign.

And I forever go,
Wherever your Siren-like breezes flow,
Lost in the ocean of your dusky, royal mane,
And the paradisal reflection of your pristine face
Which commands every boundless mountain and lake,
Possessing such a pious grace,
To be touched by your beauty, for your own majestic sake.

And the willows sway,
Over the sea,
With a languorous, rapturous ecstasy.


The Kingdom belongs to those who are hungry and in pain,
To those who walk in gloom,
Beneath the cold of the dreary moon,
To those who sleep on a nameless lane,
Chilled and unclothed.
To those who weep,
To those who faithfully keep
The ways of Him Who is now our true betrothed,
Heaven is for you.

Beyond the radiant firmament of lavenders, jades, of a diamond hue,
Paradise dwells
Above the ephemeral, transient hells
Of this vale of exile, of incessant rue.

Christ The King calls out for you.
The Bridegroom
Of eternity created mankind
To forever espouse him to His Father’s hands,
Where there is no room
For thoughts unkind,
Only a happy heart married to a felicitous mind -
In those ineffable lights - in those promised lands.

He wants you to live beneath the purple dome
Where The Virgin rejoices in her bejeweled, eternal home.
All ye who read this
Love almighty God! -
He who fashioned bread from stone;
Love your God,
Our God -


On a moss covered bridge, made of ivy clad stone
Our regal carriage passes slowly by
As hand in hand, we ride alone
Through the soft silhouettes of the emerald park;
Your gaze instills within my heart a sigh,
For your eyes are lovely, deep and dark.

On the flesh of your lips, a symphony
Plays; It is perfumed and pure, and seems to sing,
Gleaming in a boon of true felicity
Which flows like a brook, mystic, of the spring.
And while your kiss makes us one, the solemn, silver sea
Rolls far outside our window, beyond the greenery.


First and foremost choose a song that is bright,
Let your rhyme be scented like a brook in the spring,
When mountains glow, when courtyards sing,
When the strains of fountains sob at night.

Let your lines be of the wavering rose.
Let your each syllable sweetly disclose
A petal dew-kissed, of that morning flower,
Married with vines, on a wall of stone.
Let your stanzas speak of that sacred hour
When you walk with your lover, in the scented shade,
Kissing with your eyes alone,
By glistening statues, on a marble promenade.

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