Monday, 28 April 2008

Sanctimonious, Being Piously Lewd

With the beat of drum,
The men are coming
To say their peace
All forsooth and unbecoming.

To hear me speak
While the vines all climb
In due all time
In mute, no time.

But they have yet to say

Here astood the man that once said,
Back in set the domes of Faith.
The light that dawn once there;
Now good agone the long lost nay,
Bequeath his heart he asked not why
For what he gets he sleeps he may.

But they have yet to say

In a lie a life he tie
To a ring he swallows by.

To those forsake he runs not where
To those forsake He's not been there
To those forsake he asked not why
To those forsake He laugh on by.

But He has yet to say

The big red wing come onto the sky
Let it be known that once it's white.
The sacrilege of thy will not be known,
Only the sharp-toothed fang will show you go.
For it proves the It inside;
Will loom on grow the wilted fellow.
Stand the ground that thou shalt walk
Let it not damn the rose;
Whose colour ever so pure
As the blood that runs the veins
And the same that seeps the pain.
The red it shows mean many
Just not let it stain the lifting dove.

His heart seeks the felony
To cease the salacious desire
Of prude a matter that makes a man
To light the dim that shadows the wall
Whose blood it pumps
For in so pure.

His mind is spaced
To Paradise he goes
The path he longs
Once shrouded now clear.
With the beat of drum
He takes off a leap
For that he forseeks
He says,"I'm coming!"

Love ya'll

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