((…or black
Distresses) (Seraphs recalled))
The
Seraphs have departed from our lands,
And
left with them is all their tender love.
Their
mission no longer breaths near our shores,
Nor
their music to the heart, lonely souls;
All
that remains is what memory demands,
A
vision of the lost romance and yore.
They
well have said: “We shall return no more;
“You
have beckoned Satan, now in his hands!...
“Indeed,
we were yours until your subtlest wiles,
Cared
no longer for our draw and mystery—
Your
eldritch sins hushed beneath the dawn star,
You’re
a hot pot of foul by the sea—
Take
now the black distress, your quest, with smiles,
You
are the beam for the profane afar!”
No: 4469
(7-15-2014)
