There came one night three visitants,
and each one, on his door, did pound.
The louder still! Without chagrin,
while the sound shook dust from off his chin–
Falling, crumbling, bitter scraps
of the ire clouded midst him;
that kept him agelong, weary, weak.
It was this, an end, a sound–
(In light be drowned! In light be drowned!)
a trumpet blast, a shriek!
Patience, virtue, living death no longer bound–
must pass, the shroud, now light to seek!
In the night, three perennials
dusted off his chin
and a tear mistily wound down his cheek,
wetting the rusted agony of bicentennials,
flowing like a muddy creek.
Those three, those three...
Knock–a withered child,
gray of face and graven heart,
kissed him, he did, with youth forlorn
and on his wrist, a white rose worn.
Knock–the peasant woman,
no face, but a plain cloth rag, draped o’er.
And a voice that gravelly whispered lower,
“Ruler, you may pass. Recollect your kin.”
Knock–the final tempest roar,
the wind of all the winds. Abhor!
Pain away, withdrawn,
and no voice of it be spoken
on this earth, this dragon’s yawn–
again and not again; a token,
A clouded future,
its ashes to ashes
and dust to sulfur rust.
Kingly vows, the broaching dawn,
and soon be molded,
sitting somewhere, blazen by roses fawn
a newly crafted bust.
So, how shines now brightly,
the ring on the new and fluent finger,
From heaven, jubilant,
above the stony peaks that vigil might’ly
and linger on dowdily, steadfast, knightly
Alas! the Jericho range,
he sings soft, contralto, strange...
He sings songs of the olden marches,
of the court he held long and proudly,
of kisses thieved ‘neath kingly arches,
of the children that lived throughout his reign,
and of the ashen finger, on which
shines round and round
the golden ring
that waits to rust again.
Author notes
Hope you enjoyed this!
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Comments
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Excellant/intriguing/unique
Awesome write indeed. Great imagery, whether I completely understand this poem or not, it doesn't matter. It seems to have come from the depths of your soul and in some strange way reminds me both of Kahlil Gibrans' writing as well as the Rubyiat of Omar Khayyam as translated by Fitzgerald. Well done my friend, again I say well done.
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Patty you just don't seem to understand the beauty behind a true poem. You never know how to respond lol...
Shane's poem is a beautifully written piece of art, as always, not showing depression but a vivid imagination from his heart. His poems express a passion for life, and a great love for things that aren't of your reality.
Brilliant. ~ Kerri
um i dnt hav nthng elz 2 say shn ur peom s gud.
LMAO
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wow..um i dnt kno how i should respond to this..this is very powerful and hopefully ur not feeling as depressed as ur poetry seems like.
kat
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