Voyage to Yore

A voyager navigates through arcane paths of time,
Penetrating the realm, of auld lang syne rime.
Amidst the misted yet magnificent memories,
He treks through the dusted figments of reveries.

Crossroads of life make him meander to old,
To connect the dots since beginning of mould.
Idylls and elegies, voyager knows them all,
Phantasmagoria of future, makes him take this call.

Voyaging alone a mariner, of alacrity in dreams,
Lives in aphonia of, slumberland silent screams,
Of bygones, long ago, thousand suns set since,
Thousand nights ended, manifested thousand sins.

Mesmerized by the moments, life shared with him,
In malediction he lived, with him lived his whim.
He moves on sailing, in solitude of sorrow,
Cruising through crepuscule, for a bright morrow.

Thriving in the sea of, storms with grandeur,
Traversing through traumatic terror, as a saviour…
Since soothing apricity to cruel winds of winter,
Tenebrous truths of life treading him to splinter.

Ataraxia of his youth, enthralled he does reminisce,
When as a paramour, his inamorata he did kiss.
Those were the days, serene duende of yore,
When with true friends, credos he did explore.

Solitary after spring of life, with spares of sweven,
On wounded wailing ways, weaning to healing haven,
Voyager forwards his spirit in deep silence,
Lost in gloaming, against nocturnal violence.

In search of lucid life, pilgrimaging every shrine,
Searching his lost person, he moves every mine.
Peregrinating howling hell, touring havocs of heaven,
Maugre mawkish mundane, loser lures lupine leaven.

Days long forgotten, he recalls envisaging,
Dreams so long dead, he rethinks resonating.
Friends long separated, voyager remembers them all,
Beauty of lost beloved, beyond her his fall.

Shadow of inutile glory, fallen glory of past,
He seeks he sees, life extirpating fast.
A Quixote, he’s hipped, in a bait called joy,
A lugubrious lachrymose, follows world’s decoy.

What has he gained, thanks to his probity?
Does this splentic world, care for his acuity?
Questions he himself, his ambit for veracity,
Sectile he’s left, exposed, to frowzy iniquity.

Those were the days, when with kith and kin,
Lived he anacreontic, limning utopia did begin.
People adduced gracile him, how mellifluous?
Algophilists left him, in his penury ambiguous.

Tides of eternity, voyager rides, since eon,
Solitude of empyreal, he listens to from yon.
Whence flowing air, whence aroma and fire,
Whither his sight sights, sunning his holy pyre.

Today, anachronistic he… Today! anachronistic he!
Today, anachronistic… he, watches false reality…
Today anachronistic he watches false reality
Essence of ether as, ushers earth with enmity,
Sempiternal sleep shuts his eyes off as…
Sempiternal sleep… Shuts! his eyes off as,
Looks he, feels he, void of his… Sanctity.