In the sea of grief I see the lone soldiers full of bloodless hope.
They walk a vast array of spirit fields where human ruin faces fragile mirrors.
There is a place beyond tears and solitary rain.

Oh my friends never let the theatre of human endeavour fool you into thinking
you can trust!

“Love hide thy face!” and only reveal it to children.
Make a mirage. Let lies rule dreams.
I will wait in the place where a hundred thousand thoughts inhibit truth.

Yes, History is written by the winners, I see the last poet lamenting the death of
sunset, on an English landscape, where weeping does not touch.

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