I can no longer pretend that I understand
The cruel, wicked turns this strange tale demands
What could be a simple story of a boy made man
Made proud by the boy he made from His word and from His Hand
It be found necessary to deceive and betray and belittle the secret he holds most grande
All to keep the mystery from that of his clan
It has become quite clear that no one here knows
That all this pusillanimous theatre
And glorified minstrel shows
And all the poetry and pretty profound prose
Is manufactured of pulchers to please children asking why the wind blows
That pretend deliverance is posture verbose
A lie that from cacophony can come one chosen compose
And yet
Here I remain
Amid sadness, amid strife
Loss in the lost, the twists of the knife
Would that strife perish among the gods and men!
Together forever in æven’s Great Glen
Would I could I even remember then?
Life - O! Life!
Wandering, pondering, rudderless Life
A confrontation
A War upon War
It’s the Price
Yet still common melancholy yields
Verse, Virtue, and Vice
And yet
Here I remain
The fruits of our labors and souls of our nurtures
Are we guided or sighted in the light of the searchers?
Will we now or never know the difference in pleasure
Between treasure and leisure and the All-Mighty measure
Will I
I
Sans equal
Sans naught
I, the Son of all who’ve fought
I, the Sum of all they’ve wrought
I, the Author of all to some
I, the Father of all to come
And yet
Here I remain