Tweet
They will turn the wheel,
for Catherine, named.
Them,
that would have men
press the skins
o'er brows,
upon specks
of hallowed ground,
swept rid of dust,
to drench the earth
in bloodlust.
And you would find
their countenance familiar,
in eerie
sober contemplation,
shudder,
at the scrivener's fury,
a litany
of triumph
and shame,
lay abandoned in the fray.
The wounded,
whisked away,
by preponderance of hours.
And still,
cerebral neglect
confound.
An angry chorus
lifts the sound,
euphemistic zealots abound.
Their brethren?
The hooded brood,
raze crosses to light,
raise palms to pledge,
mortal dance upon the edge.
Yet
fear the doppelgänger reflection,
who set black flags to wave,
for vengeance,
turn apples to the blade.
As we,
in fearful confrontation,
fetch Crows,
from neath the shade,
dress them in a new name,
dabble in these patriot games.
Summon ghosts
to spurn their rest,
and, in haste
seek ripe necks,
for a hangman's harvest.
for Catherine, named.
Them,
that would have men
press the skins
o'er brows,
upon specks
of hallowed ground,
swept rid of dust,
to drench the earth
in bloodlust.
And you would find
their countenance familiar,
in eerie
sober contemplation,
shudder,
at the scrivener's fury,
a litany
of triumph
and shame,
lay abandoned in the fray.
The wounded,
whisked away,
by preponderance of hours.
And still,
cerebral neglect
confound.
An angry chorus
lifts the sound,
euphemistic zealots abound.
Their brethren?
The hooded brood,
raze crosses to light,
raise palms to pledge,
mortal dance upon the edge.
Yet
fear the doppelgänger reflection,
who set black flags to wave,
for vengeance,
turn apples to the blade.
As we,
in fearful confrontation,
fetch Crows,
from neath the shade,
dress them in a new name,
dabble in these patriot games.
Summon ghosts
to spurn their rest,
and, in haste
seek ripe necks,
for a hangman's harvest.
Comment