I felt but did not see nor hear the one
And only one who fell to the abyss:
No single scream of fear nor rage in this
Abandoned call–nor hate from whence begun

This long abandoned fall of he who won.
But still the chill of recklessness persists
In all–the tremor of its wrath resists,
Appalling me, a will to be undone.

Yet almost as I fell myself–that with
Abandon… frozen… squalls me to the north–
The shaken state to which I have withdrawn.

What story shall they write, what ode, what myth
Shall celebrate such infamy thenceforth
When long and cold ago I will have gone?

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

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