An Ode to Milton

Mystic fog commingled with frost rest upon thee, hallowed marsh; sounding birds among the trees and the rustling of their leaves, signaling approaching Dawn, join together in sacred conversation. Morning sun and winds astray paint the sky in mad array; a tempest born of clouds beyond, the horizon beckons this Zephyr’s song. For no greater joy could there persist, no more wonderful feeling such as this, than to unite those hearts which are torn asunder — lest we forget to love another and reconcile with this tragedy. Comedic drama of cosmic scale, sentinel to mother’s wail, illuminate for which we’re meant, when, so too, the children of Eve have wept and will continue to do so until the morrow for being cursed at birth by Death and Sin to live with sorrow. Deceived was she when that hellish fiend, who crept and crawled between the throng, poisoned her mind with serpentine lies. Tainted Wisdom denies God — a folly, if nothing else, for which there is no recourse; Man is free to stand or to fall, a fact known by all, and why a flaming sword guards the gate without remorse; free to stand or to fall, but it makes no difference for those destined to roam outside of Eden — seeking to rebuild it in Paris or in Rome: paradise once lost, never to be found.