To Wordsworth

Wordsworth, let me borrow thy soul for a while

And feel what you felt in the depths of your existence

Love and lament the miserable man

And breathe the melancholy of that spirit

The one that haunts your eternal words

Walk on the clouds of your dreams divine

Drink from the streams of joyous waters sweet

Bleed for the sake of a dying humanity

And walk on the scorching roads with naked feet

Listen to the song of a young orange morn

And profess holy love to the whispering breeze

Watch the vagrants with faces forlorn

Send their sons to the towns of sleaze

For early in time your man upright

Was seduced by wretched greed

And this union diseased with blight

Wrath lies and lust did breed

In mourning sat  thy faithful heart

And for redemption prayed aloud

Profaned it was by the poisonous dart

With selfishness thus beast was endowed

Thank the heavens for your form is dead

It can see these grievous sights no more

Thank the gods that thy grave is thy bed

For thy home is stained with blood and gore

You once walked on these plains and hills

With worthy companions in Dorothy, Coleridge and pen

And travelled upon the oceanic frills

Sketching in ink the deeds of men

You sat once by a path forsaken

And sighed beside the empty howling wind

And no matter how you tried to waken

Man’s sleeping soul to darkness pinned

And then resigning to that faithless fate

Retired thyself to the wishes of time

And left in breath short through the unguarded gate

The prelude survives thee, a wondrous rhyme.

In thy being nature found her voice

And spake of her love to the once sacred man

But in vices now he only seeks to rejoice

And ended the affair before it began….