English poem III

There yonder ahead looms the phantom of thy essence.

Uncanny it is the fashion through which thou hast cajoled my heart to slavery.

Hot the sun shineth; its light into the very heart of my soul is poured.

Dusky and dim, howbeit, thy complexion seemeth to be.

Time is short and untamed.

To feel it is to lose it.

With clamour youthfulness clingeth like a wild beast to its prey.

Nothingness is plenteous and ubiquitous.

As it had always been way ere shadows entered the earth’s domain.