The Dagger, The Yoke and The Flail

 

Tell me, my Lord;

 

what does the dagger say?

 

What does it whisper as it’s twisting?

 

Does it make room for apologies?

 

Does it shed a tear with bloody vigor?

 

Well to do the better man’s device,

 

a heaven wrought in simpler times escapes

 

like smoke.

 

Oh soil,

 

that covers my mistakes!

 

Would that they were vapors,

 

lit on winds.

 

That they were gone…

 

… like memories.

 

 

 

But a haven for the torn and ragged,

 

is never what one finds in courts and castles.

 

When a beggar sits upon the stair,

 

the cathedral shows him their despite.

 

What more was there to be expected

 

 of a whoremaster and his chattel?

 

He stoked long ago the fires of his own lusts

 

wth brimstone of pure pedigree

 

and purchased his own fate

 

by the kiss of the dagger’s tongue.

 

Let us shed a tear for him?

 

Let us run our hands over our faces?

 

Let us beguile ourselves

 

and prostrate our bodies

 

before our diseased and corrupted Lords?

 

 

 

Better we were slaves to Pharaoh,

 

for at least his avarice was borne of great regard,

 

not drawn out of the gutters

 

or quickened in cesspits.

 

His was a regal and honorable yoke and flail.

 

Never did one wonder at his motives,

 

for he claimed a deity with no regard for his own mortality.

 

It was etched in every stone in Egypt;

 

there were no lies in him.

 

 

 

Tell me that these coiled serpents of today

 

have that conviction.

 

Tell me that their hearts do not hold one ounce of doubt.

 

Their lies are lies for a liar’s sake.

 

A snake bite for a kiss,

 

a spider’s web for a promise.

 

and those who seek to expose them are debased,

 

for they could never conceive of the fear

 

and the bloodthirst of these vile men.

 

Would a man of any real stature

 

ridicule the sick,

 

mock the infirm,

 

rob the old and weak?

 

Would a truly righteous leader

 

ever stoop the wet the dagger

 

in the back of his brother

 

for his lands,

 

his wife,

 

his name?

 

Yet these continue.

 

 

 

I seek no asylum.

 

I will still my tongue no longer.

 

It is not of any honorable status

 

to sit idly by while unscrupulous men

 

beget the world with a lie.

 

And the dagger;

 

they do not know that the steel of that blade,

 

is forged in the hearts of gentle men.

 

It is borne of the love of life

 

and the kiss of the morning breath.

 

While it may be wielded by the wicked,

 

it is their undoing in the end,

 

for it will always seek the hand

 

of a good servant.

 

 

 

Tell me, My Lord;

 

can you hear it?

 

Can you hear the dagger sing?

 

Can you tell what melody

 

rings through your fading senses?

 

It is a song of Liberty, my Lord.

 

It is Freedom.

 

 

 

HG – 2017

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s