Winter in Tomis - Ovid's Withering

Harsh lands lie before him

As he struggles to keep his wit

Malicious thoughts infecting-

Crippling the morale of his spirit

Shattered visions of the fallen begin to transpire.

An awful nostalgia consumes him

A crooked smile forms.

exalting the dead

So began the fall of a mastermind

Realizing as his mind falls to pieces

They are but catalysts — parts of a puzzle to a different plan

As the images surfaced, his virtue descends

Living amongst those barbarians

Though a fierce complication

Their tact was that of a wounded creature

And they were overrun

«I remain in exile

My bones grow weak like the sun

Descending into the trees

To end this daily affliction

As winter shows its pallid face

And the earth veiled with marbled frost

Forsaken — this gradual madness consumes my mind

Perdition in Tomis

Undead armies of Tomis

Commanded only by the presence of my absense

Brought to life by the death of myself

Risen to ease this torment

Sacrilege;

The second chance to formulate a reason

The relapse crucifixion forthwith to go into effect

Casting him away;

instead insuring their demise

I remain in exile

My bones grow weak like the sun

Descending into the trees

To end this daily affliction

As winter shows its pallid face

And the earth veiled with marbled frost

Forsaken — this gradual madness consumes my mind

Perdition in Tomis

Each day passing now I beg for some remorse

Desperately grasping at what I feel to be my last bit of life

But unlike the cycle of the attic

I feel as though there is no recourse

I’ve withered to nothing."

«Save me from drowning, and death will be a blessing.»

Hope for his designed tomb

«Rescue my weary spirit from annihilation

If one already lost may be un-lost»