Book of the Swarthy Cassonade: Chapter IV - Foreshadowing the Precipice of Darkness

Struggling against a multitude stream of passion was the last place I expected to find myself
On this impetuous journey that whispered the butterflies ripping my guts.
Beyond the curb of the waterfall, I was greeted with a massive descent to solitude and
The only stir left in the casket is the remorse that bled from the fate that impaled me;
Halt and decay, two cognate fiends allied to pursue my purpose of existence
Choking me where I gulp the dreams of the promenade, gagging with despondency
I found myself lying under a draconian onus, crushed lungs desperately gasping for continuum
But tonight, the conceived splendor swayed away from the love's grasp

Was I the one that evaded the iridescent display of auguries that wailed their warnings
Prospecting this uncharted land to resolve a yearned utopia from the fertile soil?
Was I blinded by the rapacious desire to stroll the chambers I constructed with words?
In a noxious fixation I entrapped myself in a microcosm where I threaded my repentance
Only to lift my head to be encased by reality indigent of the segments of delusion.
Venerated projections of present flickered with the last breath of incidence
And I maundered, with a meticulous eye to the past, as my conceit depleted.
Crowned with the condign diadem, pathos cherished, ancient worries cloaking my will to redeem
I descended to a throne of darkness where a chimera of eclat eclipsed the sun away