October 8^th, 2014

Stale bread and no circus,

Until the king arrives

Crowded rooms and empty vessels

Abound before these eyes

A highlight here and lowlights there

When will the time come nigh?

A low growl follows, thrummed disharmonic

A canvas spread, (this watershed)

No rhyme resolved in time

Harrowing and bleating softly

Within hearts that mingle here

Something comes from deep behind

That drumming, clanging, fear

And who could know the chambers

Of the secret places yet revealed

While the tempo changes and the curtains drawn

Still, as ever, still un-cleared

The meters off and stilted, dragging

Yawning, rushing, fettered by the page

The words within all clamber out

To tell what could never be caged

Awaiting unremorseful

The day must come and soon

The king arrives and key beheld

He comes to fix the tune

Ever shall the words seek him

For he can make amends

This stale bread without a circus

Is the work of eager pens

Come, oh King, and tarry nearer,

Allow me your song compose

Imperfect speech yet may it reach

Where its countenance transpose.