On these wistful wastes, under forlorn skies <br />my mist-clad memories were bound to go-and so! <br />The past would seem a torn and tattered tableau <br />When Crawling Chaos came to claim The Idiot's Price. <br /> <br />Over barren planes, burns a sulking sun. <br />Dim-lighted are the lands ever dark and dun. <br />On nighted hills there's always the sound <br />of baleful prayers and mad chantings unbound. <br /> <br /> <br />Leaves fall -whirl- and fall once more <br />onto a festering forest floor. <br />Among trees bearing foetid fruit. <br />Doleful decay from crown to root. <br />There I ceased to be a Man of Yore. <br /> <br />Strange atoms flow, darkly dance and glow <br />through groves where dreary dust-gales blow. <br />The lonesome winds sweep to otherwhere <br />Everywhere the selfsame despair. <br /> <br /> <br />The bygone days blissfully did grace <br />us, disciples of the Old Code Ways. <br /> <br /> <br />Lokeren, Flanders 20/05/2013<br /><br />Jan Frackiewicz<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-grace-of-bygone-days/
