"Shall I point fingers"
Shall I point fingers at the weeping crowd
That doth grind its teeth in sorrow? Breathing
In my hollowed grief thou didst torment me
To whisper his name and sully his shroud.
And now with thy cankered lips dost thou
Seek solace - Thine and mine be twain henceforth!
The pureness of all memory has no need
Of thee, but as a weight upon thy brow.
For in thy shelter preached a different homily
Of cruelty against the weak. So shall I
Feel thy loss tremble in the stillness, and
Sit silently in thy melancholy.
Eclipsed in the sky, the white moon awaits,
And the passing sun - revelation gates.