I Used To Read Every Night

I used to read every night My thin book, of your heart's own verse: Pages of threadbare longing For your sentences recompense- Words now which mirror, Unreconstituted prose That from impotency, arose Toward my heart, like a lettered blight Of languages silenced, by words Our day became more like a night Though once, I had even transpired To imagine empires conquered; Armageddons deftly averred But now in consternation, I find I'm to light my own funeral pyre; Let my tears become my dirge Of sorry tales that could deafen Blind men, in a stumbling rage I'll drag my own chains back to hell, Since your mercy's worse than your hate And, as there's no music heard there, I shall welcome my toneless fate; Music gave too much hope For hope, without any dreams The present song annihilates.