Took A While
Pensight
As I drift in a bitter glow
Wrapped in a tender shawl of misspoken fortunes
The turning grinds and shudders,
Softening the horizon.
Now my teeth are free to bleed chalk
And my hands to weep a prophecy.
It speaks of a stormy Fool
Driven to subtle insanity
By the waves trapped inside the tiny
Bells that crown his wrists.
This Fiddler will bow for lowered hallways
And tinker with angled thrones
Until they are just so.
All this until a sour hero
Dressed in beastly shade
Comes cantering across cobbles and riverbeds,
Questing for misplaced pen strokes.
When this couple touches a glance
Across a windy fog
The Laugher will shout, “Cursed victory,”
So a hymn can be painted onto his clever palms.
Then fingers will knot themselves into
Columns and the Shaper will
Plant his weary brow on a knoll
And know very little ever on.
As I drift in a bitter glow
Wrapped in a tender shawl of misspoken fortunes
The turning grinds and shudders,
Softening the horizon.
Now my teeth are free to bleed chalk
And my hands to weep a prophecy.
It speaks of a stormy Fool
Driven to subtle insanity
By the waves trapped inside the tiny
Bells that crown his wrists.
This Fiddler will bow for lowered hallways
And tinker with angled thrones
Until they are just so.
All this until a sour hero
Dressed in beastly shade
Comes cantering across cobbles and riverbeds,
Questing for misplaced pen strokes.
When this couple touches a glance
Across a windy fog
The Laugher will shout, “Cursed victory,”
So a hymn can be painted onto his clever palms.
Then fingers will knot themselves into
Columns and the Shaper will
Plant his weary brow on a knoll
And know very little ever on.