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In a damp and distant marshland
Lived a sage of age unknown
O'er his ancient mossy eyebrows
A silken thread was sewn

The Sun itself would shun him
His hair ensnared the Moon
Over creeping horrors reigning
Of death his visage hewn

No man would dare perturb him
Save those whose dread was slain
For words like portents churning
From him as sentence came

The mesh of being yet tingled
And he could read its throbs
Foresuffering each omen
He'd mire himself in sobs

I serve the silken weaving of thy will
The swamp would grieve its maker, broken still

To sense the quivering motion of the web
To bear the providence, heinous almanac
To witness silken waves ignite and ebb
Is a mortal curse when the gift to shift you lack
Smitten is the seer who only gets to peer

Omniscience overwhelming
The cobweb of his thoughts
No destiny absconded
To bewilder him with plots

Aeons seemed like meagre moments
And questions fleeting notes
Of an instrument eternal
Whose strings bore gentle strokes

I am the silken gesture of the hand
Whose melodies I hear and play, so grand


To sense the quivering motion of the web
To bear the providence, heinous almanac
To witness silken waves ignite and ebb
Is a mortal curse when the gift to shift you lack

To sense the quivering motion of the web
To bear the providence, heinous almanac
To witness silken waves ignite and ebb
Is a mortal curse when the gift to shift you lack
Smitten is the seer

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