Crusader

Homunculus strode silently out of the keep.

On haphazard stilts rent and borne of others' flesh,
Inverted noose amulet hung by thin string
Balancing-wand of borrowed bone clutched by claw,
Up the hill, 'round the corner, across the bridge
Into the village proper
wreaking havoc and mayhem
Into the ephemeral illusion
of forever.

I watch and study,
hiding in the anonymity
of plain sight

His unfinished costume sways with pendulum weight at every plodding step
Testing his balance---his cadence
For the pockets of his cloak are deep
not as deep as his needs or his wants or his covets
But deep enough.

And those great pockets brim
Overflow
brim with Apostles, Epistles, and pistols
Gods, heroes, prophets, talisman, and sharp daggers
brim with righteousness, judgment and fear
and fear and fear and fear
with a hint of compassion, a dash of acceptance
a taste of love.
that sweetens the pot
to keep it from boiling
staining his clothes
on his rationalized quest.

Under his hat,
that marvelous feathered helmet of stolen plumage
where, were he natural,
instead of an abomination, a
fine thick mane would grow
keeps he a cheap set
of misprinted tarots,
cards with the darkness ripped out,
cards with false sunshine etched in,
that dazzle his friends
marvel at their grand fortune
at the promise of naught but success

And as he strides he is eager
He is more than eager he is peckish
He is more than peckish he is hungry
He is more than hungry he is starved
Starved and raving.
Ravenous and dangerous.

I tremble as he passes
Year after year
decade after decade
century after century
wearing a different face in
each incarnation
but recognizable by his clothes
clothes that change material
but never, never the cut of the cloth.

And even though I hate him for what he's done
And even though I hate him for what he is doing
And even though I hate him for what he's going to do
I cannot muster the energy to hunt him again.
Again and again and again.

I cannot hunt him again.
The time has come to hunt his father
Time to find the Alchemist deep in his keep
The sordid magician
that unleashes him over and over
and spoil his chemicals
break his stone
cast away his leather parchment
shatter his crucibles and beakers and flasks.

So the pretender can never be raised again.