The Delight of The Pilgrim
Dedicated To The Heralds & Choir of Beauty's Lament, Ne Obliviscaris
Harmonious high heralds of hewn heroes' plight,
Whose woe-wrought awe-raptures resound inner light,
Amidst your high serenades, my sore soul ignites.Though my tear-stained mask still soaks in admiration,
This pain-purged pilgrim's plight remains peace-forsaken,
For a spirit in respite bereaves desperate foundation.The brightest light casts the darkest shadows,
And over an aerie, that shade casts long.
With time, breath shallows and mind turns wrong.A once-vivid visionary, 'til peace was betoken;
Now song-seer and sage of all sciences spoken,
Charting stars of truth, and mending knowledges broken.For every dark night, there comes a bright day,
For soon known will be truth, light's lament, mind's dismay,
Amongst luminescent logos seas of longitudinal rays.It's where phases lock and where colours collide,
In a vacuous phantasm, that divine mind resides:
Word's gold gnosis grows near with new science realized.Know this, oh choir: Thy high song saves souls.
A serenade of saints, and futures told,
Whose grace traces shapes of the seas of gold.Dost ready thine trumpets and brandish thy drums,
As fate shalln't make haste to take quintessence herefrom.
And soon blooms the new world, whence wrought providence comes.~ The Delight of The Pilgrim, by Baron Luminifer Arcanus.