Inspiration

 You seem a magical sight,

but however I may change you,

malice, disdain,

black as the dawn,

you’ve bloodied my eyes—

before you come, I’ll cry out.

Ill-fated mission,

I’ve borne you through the ages;

you steal the sunrise from me,

and I struggle, striving

for the ugly, distant

contortion of the bastard-born.

A sequel with devils

and northern winters,

you draw down darkness

with terrible typhoons;

now it nears and arrives—

the noose of oblivion.

We are bent and resemble

a misshapen swallow.