Sorrowblight

The world’s too young for Sorrowblight,
Traversing long across its glassed heart,
Transcending time and emptiness, for
It’s a long journey to be.
The plodding thump of plumbic bones,
Does not cease, it does not cease.
The rueful days of the Sorrowblight
Hath caused travailing and too much mourn.
Because you took, o Sorrowblight,
Because you stole, I pile coals on my head.
You cannot take me, Sorrowblight,
You will not wright me bones of lead.
Kill me, place me in a mold, where my frame,
Fraught with plumb, should lay with my brother,
Trapped underground, entombed in a metal grave.
Ne’er will he rot, and that is good.
Time and weary talk will salve, still the
Sorrowblight will stay.  Thou, my great anguish,
By noonday won’t go, because night is my kingdom.
It gouges the eyes out of languor in day.
Traveling Sorrowblight, why do you gaze at
the people’s golden freedom?
In all your tortured days you ramble,
Shall not you find a soul to reap?
With the Sorrowblight I live,
To thee, blight of sorrow, be,
All the verses of my kindred
Steal me, steal them, take to thee