Withdrawn the blessing and the curse,
The dubious promise to the Righteous Thief; restive centuries never
Fall from memory even as salvation is gained. Reactionary lines are ever
Faithless, their avarice remorseless; cocked, the trigger’s in the verse,
The bullseye’s always clearly marked, the roles reverse
And while the last are first, the first, the clever,
Mitred, the glorified from the neck on down are decapitated, severed
Remnants left to rot along the leisure banks of ancient streams, the hearse
Drawn not by horses nor the romance of martyrs, powers in a cosmic heist
Or Lady Luck, but by the energy of justice and the glory of simplicity,
The touchstone of a truth that separates all light from fire,
Nemesis of volatile emotion from every man’s desire.
Witnesses are way too early, much too late, between the zeitgeists
Of our fathers’ harpies, hubris and fantasies, and all that’s left of destiny.