Samuel Taylor Coleridge

 

 The leaden cloak of his sorrowful pain

Is measured in tears like driving rain

Beating on the heart of experience

Searching for the self’s deliverance

From the consequence of his ignorance

Anchoring his soul to action’s past

The present crucified upon his heart

               Conscience writ upon a mirror image

               A reservoir of guilt haunting his step

               Casting shadows on his shallow soul

               Traduced by chance and circumstance

               Invading his dreams with silent terror

               Water drowning heartache in his song

                 Wandering upon waves of contrition

Crashing on the shoreline of neglect

Brimming with remorse ridden regret

The wine of benediction in his thought

Seeking his redemption from the crime

               His immortal grace is the Ancient Rime.