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The Masque of Illimitable Sorrow

By
Alas! Whence I, Heron the indomitable
Once set my eyes, Lynx mine supreme love,
Is ruined in fire.
O, ye august yet lovely fortress of Lynx,
Thrice damned upon the fist of God.-
Where once we were, my rock, my standing.

As I look upon your face, infernally scathed,
Thus do mine eyes truly awaken.
Thou art the claws to my hands,
The blood of mine heart.
No, you transcend all that.-
You always were that whom I loved the
most,
Lusted and ruled and broken by all.
Yet I was a fool, a vain, shallow fool.-
Boasting of your assets, your strength, to all.
The Gods were perchance true in damning me so.

It was between the parapets of the barricades of your strength,
I swear it was, that they came to you and destroyed your soul.
Imprisoned you, stirred the twists of rebellion in you, caused you fear.
When I was at war with myself and at war with the infidels,
Thus did the cowards rip you from the entrails of your own belief.

I swear, I swear, I will rebel.-I will
Slaughter them all.
And when I do, I will see it through that they might say,
“O, great lover of great maiden Lynx, we have sinned upon you-
But we take the blood of our own upon us.
O, great lover of great maiden Lynx, we surrender to your wrath.
Please, show us mercy, and etch the showers of forgiveness on our souls.”

Lynx, my ultimate love, and the greatest etch on mine heart, forgive me.
My folly is illimitable, yet mine sorrow now is indomitable.
Hark,
The angels spit upon me, and they are true and right.
Dead, dead, now I am but dead.-yet, I was always dead.
The entrails of Purgatrio have and always have enveloped my soul.
All but mournful, I am, in this realm of fire and sinful wrath.

The Ethiops, ye cursed ones, with blood of vitrol and lust,
You have cast upon yourself the blight of oblivion.
The janissaries of mine fleet and the cannons of my flotilla
Shall wreak such havoc in the night of mine retribution
That the piteous Deys of your provinces and yet Napoleon himself,
Could not impede me
Your ruinous plight.
O, what soul do I behold in this stark ordeal?
Ah, the wretch of Tartarus in himself.-
This is the commandant of the fools, the high Eunuch
Among those without manhood.
Now, I may see to it that he shalt fall upon my feet.
And as such the gloom of his sight hast slain him.





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