I dreamt last night of a fortress high,
A black silhouette that clouded the late sky.
Compelled I was towards that lofty height,
For my destiny lay in its foreboding might.
I then approached Love with a weary tread,
For that name is the Citadel to where I was lead.
With aged Stone Walls and Iron gate,
That welcome us all to an unknowing fate.
As upon the Ramparts peering down,
Those tireless Soldiers of Arts renown.
Row upon Row of Cupid's form,
Fashioned in Bronze with Arrows drawn.
All Sonnets of Love were engraved here and there,
The Musings of the Poets with all warnings to share.
Works of every Tongue were displayed to the eyes,
From the Bards of the World, The Lexicon of the Wise.
And there by the gate a table stood by,
Where open for all were Books of great size.
With the names of the Victims who passed through the gate,
A few Billion or so that were sent to their fate.
So I signed my good name amongst the Sea of lost Souls,
Those faceless young pilgrims, their fortunes untold.
No sooner my name on the page was set down,
The gate now swung open being silent of sound.
Now there before me was a Hall bathed in Gold,
Lined with the Busts of the many, all writers of Old.
And up high upon an Escutcheon on view to the Hall,
Were some words from the Wise I can now here recall.
‘All Reason, All Reason. Beyond All Reason'.
And so I sadly was.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem