This pen can only recall tragedy
And etch every word in red
As an expression of pain infliction
To myself as my veins are bled.

Eyes that observe a corrugated world,
A hand that copies, not creates
Endless dark and mirror of my black soul,
Reflections of a sphere of hate.

Sublime seraphic light that could have saved
Lies forgotten in shallow earth,
Another verse to the same bitter song
Sung to the tragic poets dearth.