The Divine Curse Poem by Connor Anderson

From his childhood hour Agrippa betook to lean
On the pallid statue to dream
About a delicate little flower

What he dreamt he dreamt alone
The pine trees scent did arose
Projecting an impelling pose
From a time he wished he was born

But whether he chose to think with glee
The solitude would decay his soul
Until he was least but enthralled
Still he implored the Seraph’s would set him free

The machines beguiled his senses
So he slumbered in his shrine
Against the statue submerged in rime
Shivering and sobbing until his body tenses

Imagination was his nurse
Beaming him to other worlds
Where he truly became unfurled
And no longer subdued to the curse

With path amiss and water cold
Benevolence is the key
Where everyone can see
Agrippa’s story had been told