fire eve

it's near dawn
come and have your breakfast
in this place your reign is old
prithee drink and brace
for awkward sessions
then come along with me my lords

down
to the forest's edge
where the people who know the fields
beg
petition, parley, and pray
for us to hear their appeals

of a history bespoken
a history bled
a time that is thought was over
but returns, reemerges, even blossoms and spreads
yet, a history uncovered
verily, a wrong that was never deposed
begatting spiels of the slighted
in their screams of duress
insisting harms they have known...

there are thieves in angel skins here
still moving in to graze
on the dependents
on their only children
dancing on their martyr's graves
and you my lords
have your own obscene displays
which stoke their oldest fears and coals of rage

now my lords…
like bold Robins, in the tales
of fighting sheriff's pale faces
be thee a Galahad or Joan of Arc for these days
who stands for all to be kept safe
in bringing all Heaven’s barter with accords to take
between those worse for wear each day
and the nobles who they task for different fates

it's our eve
who knows what dawn will bring
but this night shall ring

without Mephisto love - no
nor new drawn blood
but in the dreams that we all can see

and all of us
who want the same because
the past has not provided them much
won't become your worst of dreams
a judge of fire

the damage described - so dark and frightening
though not all we've come to find
still is reason that angels closed
their paradises

so in the pastimes
we've sheltered all our lives
may it befall us to be so wise
as to lantern brave and bold appeals with this in mind

of their apathy
understand what all they've lost

of their torches in the wind
yes, perceive the force at large

then proceed into the fields
where your efforts convery your hearts

and seek to usher in an age
where no one kneels for any cost