ThePoorestMouth
06-28-2011, 12:25 PM
The Darkened Dawn of Dusk on the Thirteenth Sabbath.
The darkened dawn of dusk on the thirteenth Sabbath
crouches slowly, unfolding as a rose from under thorns.
Aching hibernation eases like knots of winter thawed,
gnawing at the past day’s rusting shackles. Bided by time,
this glowing weight of prescience envelops strands of light
that linger, straying beyond their welcome. Leave now
foolish guardians of paler joy, older gods know these shifting hours.
There is intrigue in this danger, drifting redolent to spike the air,
an electric scent to prick the pores, to sharpen teeth on edge.
Hostile eyes gorge aggression on flocking sight; spiral pitched in death-swoops
hawks tear tatters into shapeless doves. A fox howl heralds return
as counter-wound wolves spring from bloodied air, to gouge down lesser dogs.
While seething froth from sea ferments a life unknown to light and casts forth from oozing shadows,
wrecking ships with bitter vice.
Praying tongues now nailed to an icy length of cross
wag curses to a sky from which God has turned his cheek.
Bestial bones adorn the altar in Christ’s long abandoned home;
wreathed in thickening flies to fur the prayers that died unknown.
Legion terror leads whip-crack laments from those processing below heaven’s scent,
to a line, long laboured faces forced up to a clock tower’s mocking gaze,
spitting time’s darkest syllable; midnight in the black house…
So tempest, choke these stars from light; snuff the tapers
then blind the night. The wind may howl in circling screams;
its priestess cursed with the thought of dreams. Bulldoze heaven,
stitch up the moon, its lustre stung to tyrannical rule.
But no hate can you paint on those masked by the fog;
for on gallows sins a grief that the righteous forgot.
The darkened dawn of dusk on the thirteenth Sabbath
crouches slowly, unfolding as a rose from under thorns.
Aching hibernation eases like knots of winter thawed,
gnawing at the past day’s rusting shackles. Bided by time,
this glowing weight of prescience envelops strands of light
that linger, straying beyond their welcome. Leave now
foolish guardians of paler joy, older gods know these shifting hours.
There is intrigue in this danger, drifting redolent to spike the air,
an electric scent to prick the pores, to sharpen teeth on edge.
Hostile eyes gorge aggression on flocking sight; spiral pitched in death-swoops
hawks tear tatters into shapeless doves. A fox howl heralds return
as counter-wound wolves spring from bloodied air, to gouge down lesser dogs.
While seething froth from sea ferments a life unknown to light and casts forth from oozing shadows,
wrecking ships with bitter vice.
Praying tongues now nailed to an icy length of cross
wag curses to a sky from which God has turned his cheek.
Bestial bones adorn the altar in Christ’s long abandoned home;
wreathed in thickening flies to fur the prayers that died unknown.
Legion terror leads whip-crack laments from those processing below heaven’s scent,
to a line, long laboured faces forced up to a clock tower’s mocking gaze,
spitting time’s darkest syllable; midnight in the black house…
So tempest, choke these stars from light; snuff the tapers
then blind the night. The wind may howl in circling screams;
its priestess cursed with the thought of dreams. Bulldoze heaven,
stitch up the moon, its lustre stung to tyrannical rule.
But no hate can you paint on those masked by the fog;
for on gallows sins a grief that the righteous forgot.