What sorely did cry from below,
Shall all a cup be sunk by a stream,
Shall all a tear itself in cup refill
Whist a hand descend nor fill entail,
Shall it then, Athena, my muses sunk,
Now walk through a bay in sound reveal,
Marred by respite an essence owned,
But dared walk through his stream alone,
So cast a memory upon me, my brother away,
Nor memory aside and fates are born a thread,
I breathe a fume of acid to conjure deep,
A dark and nasty thought I listen here,
A scream I seep through malattempt in jest,
Now once in bigger hope I’m fraught for die,
So then he lies at a stream I’ll find away,
So once I carry my life through all fates
Entwined; each tear is a gap in land nor sea.
His difference part from me, his life ill-spent,
And mine through Styx is hellish glory steamed,
Now die twice ere once more reborn, but whisper
Clear are the waters, and subtle are shades,
Then I reach land from his, so am I dead then?
If I am, so then all living are dead to ghosts!
Now he beckons me back, I could not for I am dead,
But choosing life, I leave behind a past in here:
These tears, and blood-let stain my gold depart,
Styx an overfilled wine, with sweet and bitter taste,
This is ought I give, then keep my brother there,
So that I rise and he shall be nominal to degree,
Whilst I look back and this much I am here to see.

Category:
Family, Mysterious, Poetry, Works
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