Above the world

the ghostly suns have

burned out

like candles guttering

in the night.

In the ascendant skies,

there succeeded a fugitive light,

stretched out like a scar

across the navy-stained

heavens.

I belong to those wayward ideals

Once known, or once suspected,

That exist no more for man.

I drove them from paradise,

a burning blade forever

barring the way.

Sometimes I am glimpsed by dreamers

Whose eyes have not been blinded

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By the hell-lamps

of their fallen decadence.

In me you'll find lost dreams;

the pale desire

Whose eyes have looked on madness,

Their own faltering light inverted;

the vanity that only tells of

love and hope.

Like a song

Heard from afar,

imperishable beauty calls

Out of the mist and rain

across the limitless sea,

Like the silent silver

song of the faded phantom moon.

When the night is blind,

a golden memory falls,

Never to rise again.

Voice of the leaves that die,

Whisper and sigh

Of gardens waning,

imperfect, and forever-decaying

facsimiles of Eden,

their hollow lights

slowly fading into the night.