I Wonder If You Always Tell The Truth

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A Legion Of Memories, Imprecise

A legion of memories, imprecise,

Crowd the crowing sleep when I retreat

Between a tunnelled-birth where I became,

And this, my final end I cannot fear.


In the beginning a breasted babe,

A new-born prince presiding.

Regent in a rented castle,

He towered above the earth in his repose;

Who signalled his intention to the throne

When he to his own Avalon succeeded

To watch the dancing emerald flame,

Those leaves of grass that marked his kingdom’s end.


A rise so rapid must contain a fall,

So was it when his narrow rule dissolved.

Displaced among the tyre-stained streets,

His destination sought was solitude.

So remained the child until matured,

And found a brand new world when he emerged.


All thought of conquer now dismissed,

New sights were set on comfort’s bough.

Though in the cradle had he never rocked,

The resulting fall had still not been denied.

With hardened heart and cynical resolve

Came entrance to the common man’s domain.


Was a cause of much surprise encountered,

And is still, to his unending pleasure,

That from this simple life contentment blew

Upon the carrying winds that bring him through

The reminiscence; and the youth of which

They tell has fallen derelict, to stay

Untended ‘til the day when, long to come,

The tomb-lid cracks to ancestral pries.


It is with this incumbent theft,

I wake to find no more that blinking light;

The nagging voice intent on sacrifice:

The betrayal of a relinquished past.