Luyện nghe bài hát IV (Interment)

I
I descend
I my eyes and still these vistas rend

The waning sun... light so thing
Sickly, pale shafts press
At a fog, an entangling torpor
Stripping the fenland air of
Writhing chains of desolation reach
And beckons a shattered soul back darkness

As the soils in welcome
A riven to embrace a sundered spirit
like a withered fist
Around a of pale tissue

Weak - so very
Cold - to the marrow
by the frost of loathing
I nothing left to give

Even my flesh presents
A cross-stitched tapestry of failings
vessel of spiritual exsanguination
Home to the dread-stare of these listless

Each sordid limb a tendril of
A beacon of suffering, a of torment
Aflame with agony
This hemisphere of demands extinction

me

Yearning for

I beg for the embrace of the
A final resting place - only by a henge of dead trees

The cathedral stands,
A memorial to all those who within these shadows

Unmoved by the of the lost
Who sink without markings into the fathomless