Seldom between the
broken hearts and broken wings,
The phantasmagoria evokes-
a sense of ecstasy.
When my dreams
are not mere will-o-the wisps
When  I’ve played all my cards;
and  felt the prickly thorn
or tasted the sweetest wine,
For once I’ve known
I’ve been mine.

By choosing ‘the road that wanted wear’
I answered to the
call of my mind.
I dashed through
the cheer of the mob,
and broke the shackles
of their pejorative minds.
I rose to the highest altar
and  like a modern ‘Ozymandias’
declared myself ‘the king of kings.’

Perhaps to keep in check,
My vaulting ambitions,
Someone woke me from my sleep
‘And this weak and idle theme
had  been no more yielding
but a dream.’
It brought me back
to  the lands forlorn-
where men honour servility
and rejoice in others’ perdition.
The last arrow in the quiver
for  shooting the ‘Albatross’
released.