The Nation of the Glorious Turnip

The translation assembly is in overdrive, with two more poems straight from the darkest corners of the royal archives, found somewhere deep inside the vault of all things fathomable.

Dissipating times for a lost future

When the future no longer hides the past
in a world caught in the fog of present day.
When history is no longer extended by time
So too shall be lost the world in eternal struggle.

Timeless, shapeless, without a purpose in life
Is this impeccable part of the whole forgotten

When the stars are driven from the night sky,
with a wicked voracity they are consumed
by time. Thus endless in its despair
True death eventually shall dissipate.

This vanity is the grandeur of a future speech
The past does not lie in a glass of wine.

This future is never honest, repressed lies
Are those that see what the past has wrought.
That is why the present now drinks lavishly
Of the wine that no one ever expected.


And, accompanying the above:

The daughter

Inside the tunnels of the mind,
The answer must be hidden.
There are signs all around,
And the eyes see coming,
The waves of panicked effort.

Looking outside, the people walk by.
They notice not the burning eyes
Penetrating their tunnelled brains,
Looking for a way, a way out,
Before the memory is lost forever.

From within strikes the clock at nine
Soon the damage will be done
Inevitable loss comes with years
As the mind slowly fades and forgets
It can no longer remember who
The young lady is that asks:
“Don’t you remember me?”