The Familiar Dursh
A clever fiddle rhymes with fingers
To draw his portrait in the air,
Tuned to isolation and the thought
Of the heartless midnight air,
A mind lost in the uninviting welcome
Of mist in the distance,
Soothing thoughts in familiar drum,
Fog leaves where it enveloped stance.
So comfort approaches in the open night,
Where the smoke encroaches upon the light,
Alone distilled for a thought to pass
Through mind in mimic of the former times,
Ever chilled by the whispering grass,
Ever lined in poet's chimes.
Oils spill from the waters,
They creep past the warding whisper,
To the feet of the altar of stone,
Joining soul to their sister.
Stand in awe upon your throne,
A chapel to none but waning
Facade to spit a Welcome,
Welcome to the abode
Of the former raining,
He who revenge was told...
Of times in dark
Wrought lightless art,
In harmony with the singer,
Sonic or smooth in ripples part,
Rap the bells ye foolish ringer,
Cry for those you held too dear,
Wail for the prophet in hopeless sorrow,
Fly away from here Demosthenes, in fear,
Under cover of trees find your morrow,
Lie to none or feign again,
Realization comes when you let free
The name you sought through sin
Mistaken hate now seen as plea,
Across hills nor dunes in wake or sleep,
Find not the name 'til moons you reap.
Under a sky from which you gazed,
Your gaze shall fall from below a head,
Raise your soul and push away the dead,
In the dance of the mind a spirit away
Forsaken trance shall forever play
In the realities of feeble from your hand
They shall demand a search into the web,
The web of I to be the familiar Dursh.
Thu Aug 20, 2009 2:07 am
