Reincarnation

In dimmit light, the seething saints of hell
walk free among the commonality,
like charlatans with nothing left to sell
but for their individuality.

Ragamuffin heroes spew their rants,
The ragshags and tatterdemalion,
and mutter insurrection as they dance
on sidewalks - a concrete cotillion.

The morons and the idiots run loose
and fester in their grand stupidity
yet hold dominion as they spurn the truth;
the agents of destruction's augury.

Sharp shards of pretense littering the streets,
intelligent ideas erased by rain,
their tendrils loosened as they chance to sleep,
then washed, along with bum piss, down the drain.

I act the hawkshaw, searching for some gold
In sanctuary's safety I explore,
Insensate, as the trail I trace grows old
and febrile flights of fancy I endure.

But silence has a death grip on my pen.
The truth, I fear, inspires perjury...
Let phantoms guide insistant thoughts, and then
we'll stand beside our mortal injury.

If there be light it rises in the east.
From pulpit streams, on those who are not dead,
and from within we freed the mighty beast...
salvation's dues were paid by what we said.

yet quietly it settled into dust.
in reticence it ate of its own past
until another voice scraped off the rust
and offered it harmonious repast.

The idiots and morons cannot know
of symphony once etched upon the sky.
deprived the stage upon which it would grow...
now on the threshold of new majesty.

'twas love spake more than pious platitudes.
'twas love that lived within the poetry.
To kneel as one in humble gratitude,
for once there was we kissed eternity.