Hyperions Song Of Destiny

Holy spirits, you walk up there     in the light, on soft earth.             Shining god-like breezes                   touch upon you gently,                         as a woman's fingers                               play music on holy strings.   Like sleeping infants the gods       breathe without any plan;         the spirit flourishes continually             in them, chastely kept,                         as in a small bud,                                 and their holy eyes                                       look out in still                                               eternal clearness.   A place to rest     isn't given to us.           Suffering humans                 decline and blindly fall                       from one hour to the next,                               like water thrown                                     from cliff to cliff,                                         year after year,                                               down into the Unknown.