The King and The Gannet

Rare and precious thing;

you, possessor of hearts.

Strength in your fist,

making light shine

from high precipices,

forcing the life in

and growth to follow.

 

The wail and the shake

of new birth;

rumbling of Earth

crumbling old world proverbs.

Level the dead

and the angel was on your tongue,

the devil had nearly won;

one more second,

one more relinquished event.

A moment that seemed to sing,

melancholic and strained,

like the cries of the lost Gannet,

circling,

out over the ocean.

 

You riveted me.

Struck me like a bolt

thrown from god-like heavens,

transfixed my wandering gaze

and reigned me in

under your heavy lash.

Our crimes were never spoken of

in metaphors,

here your truth

lays naked,

unconcerned with drunken candor.

You were never made

to live unafraid.

 

Smile like a light

lit loud

in songs sung

like thunder

and cannon fire.

Be-gone old refrains!

Our eyes are set fast

on horizons laid

across long

far off territories

yet unclaimed by men.

 

Your cries,

of the gauntlet’s grip.

That flash,

of old steel’s

rich patina.

Fire,

that burns

the blind eye clean.

We drove forward,

breaking the great void.

Lives we would pass on;

ourselves,

we never lost.

 

HG – 2016

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