Under a sky of uncreated mud <br />or sunk beneath the accursed streets, my life <br />is added up of cupboard-musty weeks <br />and ring'd about with walls of ugliness: <br />some narrow world of ever-streaming air. <br />My days of azure have forgotten me. <br />Nought stirs, in garret-chambers of my brain, <br />except the squirming brood of miseries <br />older than memory, while, far out of sight <br />behind the dun blind of the rain, my dreams <br />of sun on leaves and waters drip thro' years <br />nor stir the slumbers of some sullen well, <br />beneath whose corpse-fed weeds I too shall sink.<br /><br />Christopher John Brennan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/under-a-sky-of-uncreated-mud/
