Alderpale (or about "modern morality")

Alderpale, crowning your fervor,

it juts into the scree of shattered hope.

There the waxy hand of the hypocrite waves,

over the deathbed of the imagination.

The pale reflection of madness,

touches my earthly ego,

clay jugs full of "ashy" dreams

I'll scatter them over the precipice

of my soul.

My soundless cries,

hanging strangled in the labyrinths

of being.

Keys lie hidden,

behind the dead eyes of the

dark priest.

Wordcorpses, trampled by tongues of iron,

flicker in the cynical glow of

Objection,

without any shine of truth.

Starwide my hands reach out,

everlasting the search,

for the unspoiled, the unadulterated,

but I can't discover anything like that,

just the ice-blue look of hate,

shines clear through the night...

by msw.