I

What is Life, if not an intermission?
For vessels brought through fog from coast to coast.
Hearken, Death, unearth the vivid vision
of havens lost, of our unseen host.
Alas, I walk, alone, these winding stairs
towards the tower's beacon beam of old
governed but by guarded eyes' blindfold
which wither with my wisdom and my fears.

II

The seas, the trees, the yielding years yet yearning
in this vessel everlost, and turning,
towards the tumbling waves beyond the seas,
towards the unknown forest free from trees.
I saw the little light of beacons flicker.
I felt the ropes, the sails, give in and bicker.
I sensed the senses, lost, yet set in motion
towards the tempel of an open ocean.
And there were sunken shallows in the seas,
and there were gallows, ghosts and the disease.

III

And I have seen the sun set in the east.
And I have felt the beast of man be beast.
And I have watched the vessels in the west,
and I have seen, but shall yet see nomore, lest
the weightless way I evermore will wage
is yet another canvas, yet a page.
I journey on, and hold but one regret.
The black upon which the sun shall set.