Risen

Aloft, aloft, he spoke to me:
Two words of wisdom bound but free
Of chilling worlds where scorching wind
Is pained to lighten burden's fee.
And thus did all the kingdom's kin
Rejoice in mourning damning din.
The song of death was stopped outright,
And so was waned his lordship's might.
The fallen gathered round the square
Consumed by jubilous despair,
As reverence burned the holy grail.
But no one soul could shed a tear
For dying breath or joyous wail.
His lordship drew each breath in fear
As flit the flightless nightingale
All toward his hobble, stark and stale.
Aloft, aloft, he spoke to me:
The words belie their legacy.

9/7/05