Untitled III

I've been twice lost, once found,
in miring machination;
That ball of thread, I tossed around,
Lost all my fascination.

Suffice to say, I'm nowhere-bound,
And deep in conversation
With myself, and none abound,
We await the termination

Of this walk, this endless ground,
That defies all navigation,
Of these walls that resound
With roaring consternation.

A blade in hand, a string unwound,
A noted resignation,
We feel it's time, here comes the sound
Of priceless termination.

It sings like angels drowned
In bleak coagulation,
A bleating cry, the voices gowned
In baleful affectation.

Ah, Here it is, the earthen mound,
It draws my adoration,
As the worms, the depths profound,
Adorn my ruination.