Saturday, July 14, 2012

The Ranting Spirit

Lies abound outside these walls, with knives men
Walk, their speech a mixture of pointed fangs
And dented truths that doth comb the land dry
Of any bearing; such rare dignity
Did woman hold before the fall of men.
Tis fitting she should cherish him in his
Fallen state, his fallen comrade in arms,
His muse, his misunderstood nobles. O,
For a sigh of the wind to blow it all
Away from us. Where is the lion's den
That he should be so late in coming? Pangs
From childbirth do come sooner, can fly
More swiftly than the crow does south; a free
Man does more swiftly take up a promise
Of fidelity to his wife, fair charms
Make more of deadly situations; woe
To this lion for his lack of great speed
While the people suffer, are in great need.
Do you suppose that he shall arrive soon
To this hallowed ground? This place of stone graves?
Shall he come to save mere slaves of flesh? Cry
You for him to come and save you from me?
Or does the moisture in your eyes say but
A trivial wind is in the air that
You should drop such drops, such glistening streams
Of water that could slake the thirst of men
From a thousand miles around and then more?
I think you know as well as I that lies
Do hold the greater sway of this city,
Do parlay to the depths of man's heart more
Easily than bread does nourish man's flesh.
O, but here you do faint with fagtigue, swoon
In the heat of the day! Take heart dear slave
Of fortune and woe, take heart! Do not sigh
As if no salvation will come! Why flee
From me as if I were the dread plague? What
Could cause you such anguish? Were I a nat
I would understand your desire. Means
Your excellency to do something when
They pry their way into this cell? What more
Can you do than to surrender to nigh
Unbeatable forces? this great witty
King who does stride through with a mesh
To catch all royalty, including your
Own person, with the intents that your core
Be flouted? public humiliation
Awaits you! and eternal damnation
Will be your reward in the eyes of men
Who do venture through old time's darkened fen.
Can you afford to wait for help to come
When it is clear it comes not? is undone
By time itself? is unraveled by it's
Own design? Is made weak so that it sits
In the limitations of the world's hand?
Have you no answer? I do you command
To answer me straight with a yea or nay
Of what you intend with this straight faced play!
Sorrow? Is this what I hear in your heart?
You are too noble to hear this, thou art
More than mere flesh and bone to deal with such
Petty pittances of grief and pain, all
Misery is a fools game to you, why
Cling to it like a life raft in the stream?
Twill only weigh you down in a battle;
And such a battle rages on outside
These walls, goes on without your aid; men do
Fall dead, their entrails stick out from their sides
Like so many vegetables fallen from
Their wayward basket. Yet are you a deaf
Man that you hear not their cries from afar
And turn your ear's to lead? How sad, bizare
That their king should leave them, bereft
Of his senses, slain in the spirit's thrum
Of battle, overcome by the red hides
That do bear an ill intellect of true
Malice and woe; O you have no such pride
As did men of old, who did conquer whole
Cities of men with one arm tied, dream
Without ambition in your cell! O Fie!
Fie on you that you do not hear all
That I have had to say! That you do touch
Not a word I have laid out before you!
That you take me for a spirit untrue!
Well go on your way then; day turns to night.
Soon I shall return to give you a fright.
You did not listen to counsels of war.
Now see what your enemy has in store.

                    The Ranting Spirit, (c) Luke Bennette, July 2012

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