Resplendence asks to rise above the ashes
And know that I am still.
Though, when in beat, I knew it not,
Lest glory be unveiled.
I toil and I tarry: how, too, could I be freed?
In service to these shackles, I offer rats and trees.
(They smell not of the Victor, He brings me to my knees.)
Triumph never knew what coldness governed man.
If only rust should question,
I follow as a scam.
Wailing asks the shadows:
I spit, I writhe, I jumble:
These things are not of Me.
Dalliance, to the morrow;
Of Pride and Sorrow dance.
In shallow graves lie bindings;
When ashes fall,