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 To be read again, to be obeyed