Time, like a howling wind,
Onward dreadful flying,
Naught his will denying,
Passes, with a grin.
Now ye stand in sorrow’s space,
Mourning tears about thy face,
Midst a trackless, formless waste.

Long, languishing you’ve dwelt,
There where comes no reckoning,
There where Dawn’s light beckoning,
Ne’er makes her presence felt.
Far you’ve flown from time-bound throng,
And gusts o’er void replace the song,
Of souls that once ye loved among.

Gales, howling, chilling bones,
Like to an old Chthonian chorus,
Rushing strip the darkening forest,
Skeletal, standing midst the stones.
And ye, poor creature, hopeless flying,
The world’s o’erwhelming sins denying,
Dwell with none but winds still crying.

Life, beauteous ye have spurned,
Changed for baleful places,
Where once joy’s embraces,
Stirred the heart that burned.
Bound by grey immensity,
Shapeless shorn of futurity,
O timeless man, o woe to thee!

— Columba is a pundit and poet who publishes anonymously on Substack and Twitter. He’s currently working on a small collection of verse to be released this year, in addition to his weekly history podcasts with Apostolic Majesty over on YouTube, where they cover everything from the Mongol Yoke of Medieval Russia to the Lord of the Rings.

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