The Necessity of Wrath

Great and far Star, built yonder in gloom,
Art thou as tranquil as men might conceive thee,
Mortals accurst with immortal desire?
Nay, in thy bosom no peace may bloom;
Passions convulse thee, rages upheave thee,
Thy birth was fury, thy life is fire,
Thou art oceans of violence, abysses of ire,
And dreadfullest Calm shall but signal thy doom,
When the wealth of thy fierceness for ever shall leave thee,
And all that is Thou shall in ashes expire.
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.