Poemander

How unimportant and how trivial

These battles that you fight,

These wounds, this blood: all wasted.

If devil's in details, literal,

Then you have served him right.

Don't you insist, don't hail, vengeance,

That's all you've left with: blight.

Tomorrow has no room, it's full

And petty are the dreams of yours.

Filled to the brim with emptiness,

Discharged, denounced, disposed.

Wake up, awake, my soulmate,

How could forget, you fool!

We are the spirit incarnate,

The masters of this rule.

Might be alone, but not the last,

Sense seeps through sands of time.

The gears are turning in reverse,

The wheels bring cloud of dust.

Between forgiving and forsake,

Forfeited lines of verse, so terse,

I own this lot, this cup is mine:

Efflux in universe.