Internal Landscapes VI (Spenserian)
Concealment, fabled art, historic times
So grip the gun and sword in graceful dance
I tell you story of repeated crimes
Thus hidden in the macabre expanse
Of twilight. When I, face-to-face with change,
With he of whom my blade, told, “drink his blood!”
I, stifled by a sudden remonstrance,
Soon found myself next face-down in the mud
Yet body mind, aligned, seemed now to bud
The need to kill, so desperate–must prolong?
Quick, peel away! Go after him I would,
To speak with sword or mouth or morbid song.
I–Can forgiveness shed its mournful light,
Upon my soul, relinquish judgment tight?