My thoughts are full of screaming,
my eyes Eternally Seeing.
Fright of what horror is bringing,
for all of you to hear.
Deafness towards internal views
has angered soul-less Muse.
In a vexed and cursed reach,
she hates the words you seethe.
The Devil himself will check.
Just to look; To speak.
"Do You exist?"
"Are you mute of speech in mouth and not of Mind?"
"Spill filth?"
Questions asked; Evolution states;
with calm report as Creation repents.
"Must one be separate in total?
for Peace to even make sense?"
Sadly in response,
the Ancient Wheel turns,
"Yes"
"Mine is no horse with wings, to gain.
The region of the Spheral chime;
He does but drag a rumbling wain,
Cheered by the coupled bells of rhyme."
COVENTRY PATMORE.
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