I sat upon grassy linen

Looking far into my thoughts

Among deep and dark forests

Lining a hazy grayish loch

And there inside foreshadow dealt

A vision to perception

A prophetic form of imagery

Manifest in shadows obscure



And destiny falls to ruin



No discourse but archaic filterings

Of black and cryptic signs

None helping a bleak understanding

Of things not yet to come

In the misty drizzle

Entranced to deep in mind

I saw an image foreboding

Of the world which rests outside



I saw a sea of tranquility

At rest in the arms of the storm



And destiny falls to ruin