smokingboot | (no subject)

To show the Country of the Ever Young,
The ancient spirit cast his scythe to earth,
rolled back the years and all the world grew still,
though breathing like a giant, lost in sleep.
No paradise was glimpsed through waves of bliss,
no diadem of stars nor white-gold gate
But faces blank and wandering through time,
A dreamland trench where nightmares
drank corpse deep, each finger pointing
to an old signpost whereupon was writ:
' Behold, the Kingdom of the Ever Young,
Where none need fear the terrors of old age.'

And when I woke, my lantern by me lay
bright by an unknown hand,though it was day.