Too often the night wakes
and Fear widens the eyes to emptiness;
and oft the jays screech their pride
to a silver morn that shelters futility.
The ever-repeating ripples of Fate
the exhausted self repeals.
From darkness to darkness
the labors increase,
the shame endures,
the sacrifice lingers.

Desire flees itself.

Creases of dusk, time’s tired wrinkles,
trap Athena’s nebulous travail.
Soon the wandering Shades shall greet me.
Soon my muscles, lax and tame,
shall rest unfettered,
and the sun shall creep forward
to no one.

Blistered hand, malicious blade,
we march only to march,
and seek only the seeking,
for a plunder devoid of gain,
to conquer without Fame.