Chapter I: Two Runaways Buried in the Snow

To those who died...


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In youth's tragic fortune passed
That stolen ghost of beautiful lass
Departs forthwith unto a spanless, icy sea
Whilst he battles angels for vestiges of she.

Such prophets of bulbous eye, of searching glass magnifiers
Sight of a hearts' conflagration, heavy in black fires
What medicine prescribed and disease incurred
For only slight strength remains in soul's organ punctured

The boy once believed in consequence and in Jove
Besieged by a cloud of sulfur of mind, thence ushered salty eyes
Her existence denounced; What of Love? he now loathes
And questions spiritless in cruel atheist tongue: why?

Of the petite inequities of life
Why...