Muster scarce trails to pursue the final tales

I might appeal once quizzed, tested & feeled

Oh, these cuts-cut-open and observed

Though barely alive-cautiously preserved



Molested are my cries

Dispersed like transparent rime

Yet strangely I see trees

Which assail with stabbing scenes



Thus maladies & their remedies mix

So violently they create loathsome tricks

Labyrinth of angles-so twisted

Shape & form the inevitable-



Through the hexen's mind

Through the sharpness of her nails

Into her grim thoughts he now sails



Lame and sterile pain

Becomes now the most desirable pain

Washed to a pond of tears

Emptied to a valley of the gifted fears

Goblets of wisdom dried

When a witch becomes a pale bride

To the raving beauty of a doubt

A garland-old & worn-out



"Here lies he who never lyed

Whose skill so often hath been tryed

Their prophecies shall still survive

And ever keep their name alive"