My body roped
In chains of memory
My soul all clad
In gray resounding pain
I feel like Aléxandros ho Mégas
Before he died at thirty-three
Regretting that he created
His own astounding legacy.
Grayish phantoms of past lovers
Lost centuries ago in heavy battles
Are whispering the same unnecessary story.
Oh, how I need my long forgotten sonneteer
To tell me how not to succumb
To the old pain of earthly glory.
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