Phantoms and Memories

My ghosts and phantoms, my memories,
They haunt me like my fantasies,
As all my myths and all my histories.

And I, oh I, can’t hide them now,
For like a mist they rise and bow,
Pervading all, the good, the foul.

And I am left to stop and stare,
At what was full -- is all so bare;
And I am forced to face the glare:

That only in my fearful mind
Could really I a treasure bind,
For never heart could courage find.

And so I sans my clothes and rings,
And go about and scoff my wings,
And bitter laugh at fancy things,

For all is empty, all is naught,
For all is for to staunch the lot
Of fearful men who never fought.