Beneath the winding torrents’ glare,
A man lay sprawled with lustful gleam.
With half a mind, he dares to hope;
And half a heart that fears to dream.
Then light appeared in ghostly hues,
And he, beneath the ceiling’s wake.
Scalding rays—such painful ruse!—
Pouring heavily through the cracks.
Snow flew in like fireflies,
Which took upon his weary chin.
Blood stung fire across his thigh
And felt did he the pain—his skin!
Wished did he to God on high;
But hide he must beneath the earth,
For God saw he, a man of sin,
And hid from him the world’s one mirth.
For wrong it be to touch the sky,
And much more so to taste the air.
The man he lives in blissful shade,
Hoping, one day, God would care.
He saw no wrong in being he,
Yet there he sat beneath the moon—
Dripping water, vivid sparks—
Only hoping one day, soon…
Beneath the winding torrents’ glare,
A man lay sprawled with wondrous dreams—
That which God and Man can never see:
A dream to never fear to be.
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Pronunciation: \ˌü-blē-ˈet\ Function: noun Etymology: French, from Middle French, from oublier to forget, from Old French oblier, from Vulgar Latin *oblitare, frequentative of Latin oblivisci to forget — more at oblivion Date: 1819 : a dungeon with an opening only at the top
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