Where for those church bells chime?
In dusty halls. Walls slick with grime.
With this tune do I consign?
To the last grain of recorded time.


Is this clamour meant for me?
The path ahead is dark and misty.
Eyes occluded in obscure mystery.
I wish not to linger in missery.


If could have only seen.
Blackened corridors in my dream.
Never would I have plunged into this ravine.
Wishing never to have been.

Art by Gustave Dore.