Monday, December 7, 2009


Today I shall speak of those moments
Where I trifled in the glory of a fool’s parade
Breaking my fingers, tearing my hands
For words that came by a chosen few, bitter in spite
Knives set on each other, the hilt to a heart of grit
And the point to mine
There I condemned myself to wither and die
Before I knew, the cold steel point dangled and prayed
On the very rhythm of me heart, all three of them
Months changed, Seasons passed and years sighed
And I remained where I stood, watching the world go by
The anarchist, the poet, the man to be hanged
His voice and words to die, reckless in a misgiving fight

And then the angel tilted the light to his darkness
As the walls came down, ravens ran crimson in pride
Blades flew to tear flesh, cackles of blood lusted laughter
But the eye opened, and captured a refrain stolen in time
The boundless prince savaged in words of madness
As the legends and mythology despaired of an era that went by
Two and Seventy hours waning, sleepless and broken
The words she spoke of love, music in her ears
Since her years of wanton muse and innocence
He growled to her as a beast and reminded her of abandonment
Till the angel broke down and cried
The moon caught in the sparkle of the tear filled eyes
But the blade fell free, and he caught his heart as it came to break

Boundless though he walked from the paths of trust
Of the pure, of innocence and the vision of faith and credence
With every word she spoke she proved him wrong
And caressed the vision of him as she did so, unknotting fears
Till there was a world beyond madness, against the world
That had the moment of every day without the sight of her
So now he knew, if there be anything of a word called love
It came in her, along with harmonious laughter and a shy whisper
Serenity traced her high cheeks, lips that tasted wine
Drinking to his name and the essence of guileless arrogance
The god of sleep walked envious, scoffed of his lovely possession
And the ticking moment closed on four months, eight and twenty days
Of excruciating penance, austerity and longing of the angels grace.

To the day she will walk the earth again, on the soil he stands
Beckoning the lost man, the fallen child to take her hand
And leave the stolen glances behind, the days in her wait
The barbarians of the centuries far, the villains of yesteryears
To Grecians who live beyond the distance of marble and columns
High and above the thoughts and reasoning of mortal plane
Grateful of the sun and heaven,
Watching her smile, call out a forgotten name
Asleep and smiling, watchful and willing of the time to come
Caught in her sleep, so peaceful, so silent, adorable as a gentle dream
She sighs within her tender breath, and in longing, my words lie in a fret
Though the days be far, noble lies that soft road wherein every turn
I’ll remain locked in the enchantment of her name, Jezebel…