The Manuscript

Within the words lies something cold

A glow of light from one so old

Every page calling my name

Symbols excuse me of all blame

Your presence here astonishes me

The colossal things that you will read

Just breathe my name to set me free

Your soul alive will be my fee

And one by one the numbered fall

My duty is its own reward

Better do ill than suffer it

Alarming fingers of my wrist

My name is dark and my want will claim thee

The command to weep has now been given

This is how the words are freed

And the lashing whip of utter greed

A ruined soul and empty man

A lost shaow so old and damned

An awful martyrdom, so holy and feeble

A winter face, lonely eyes

A husk containing bitter lies

To sleep now, buried away