In the throes…

Sealed in a passage 
Bearing hallowed name; 
The highest blood 
Privileges one to attain
The shine of a mechanism 
And its demand of respect;
Blessed by secret passions 
For the cursed elect;
Hopeful for the quick grace 
Of sharp victory, 
While the chambers are without their monarch
Who capsized fortune 
In the sea of history.

Play now with absolved steps, small spirit; 
Your unbound labour shapes character,
Offering breath to fiction's eager ghost;
And to those bloated with misfortune,
Therefore drowning in dark cravings: 
The narrators provide stories of past honour
To stay afloat through courage 
Only afforded by mystery;
Indeed, none better can so swim 
In what orators give to war and misery. 

The new masters replaced the garden's tree;
With captured fruit 
Curiosity grew another
In aimless ancestry;
The new breed also sprouts and ripens 
In this strange but blighted Arcadia, 
Where they will be called monsters 
According to laws 
Ready for them to rebel, 
And where is the sleeping God? 
It has been excised as well. 

Thus the church bells ring in hollowed tones;
Barren, hungry - 
Gorging on responsibility,
They choke as if they've swallowed bones.

The crushing strength held
Onto such delicate conviction- 
It is Truth that bears
This most hidden vice,
And this they dearly harbour
Beyond shallow paradise,
And even farther 
From haunted Golgotha;
Hence, the new resolute will: 
Building an endless bridge,
Conquering distance en route nihil.

If you had the knowledge, small spirit, 
Would you continue? 
For your motivation will interpret the future earth,
But it will be far 
From the origin within you.