Epigraph: "...I am bewildered by this cruel fate
Clouding my judgement
Sowing the seeds of life in soil of ruin
The winds fell silent
And kisses death's wings..."
The marge of time where we are standing
Starts somewhere in the tragic age
And when the bitter rain's descending
It cries the wars the people wage
The heavens, sorrowing in silence
Get sombre, motionless and stark
And from the heights I see our I.Lands -
Today their fate is wrapped in dark
The blank woods and the broken pier
Look irredeemable and sad
There is no need to be a seer
To understand - our youth is dead
What can I say, my friends and brothers?
This is the finish I foretold
Our creed is sold out to the others,
The desecrators of the world
We did our best and not surrendered
Their filth. We still do not comply
But everything our hearts engendered
Has faded neath the mourning sky...
...The earth keeps moving in its gyre
Life passes in a pointless search
And no more burns our ritual fire
Before the shrine of Mystic Church
And in such gloom my mind's precedence
In knowledge and belief means none -
The cult, the worst of all the heathens'
Now is my folk's intruded fun
The genus of a mass obsession
It is - the masochistic pest:
The evil's hunger for possession,
The sheep's wish to become possessed
I hope, we have enough acumen
To not be plunged into this mud
But can't just wait for the denouement
In apathy and disregard
That's why not for the prize or guerdon
I clothe the shapes of my insight
In poetry. This is my burden
To bear it through the endless night