These last few days and weeks
From Spring’s promise of better days
To what Summer has become,
It’s unlikely to be that the world stays silent on what has been and what is to come.
The court does forge,
The cowards from the stronger men.
The weaker ones do let their straps untie as quickly as their thoughts decide.
That may not be their feeling,
But something someone else gave hearing.
These were the days that forged a legend,
Not in its shine,
But wore against its prime with hollow masks,
The traveler, the charlatan, the trader, the traitor,
Pick a mask, they all rotate in passing,
Grab one decoration that’s of another,
For a time, wear it for the legend,
Or for the lover,
Pretend, play make believe
Believe it’s wood or metal as matter of your face,
An energy concealed within, another’s book they read
With plots and libels concealing.
And it’s distraction,
Distracting is from the good and true until seduction,
On unsure footing place the subject of your affections,
And for each grape, eventually they will beg,
The whole vine out of reach,
Pleading for that little satisfaction incomplete,
The act concluded by the myth concluding solitude and sanctuary,
Were the irons from which he cast himself,
The bow that waited for his hand,
Was not a prize to be paraded, as it was in the hands of his,
And only his its string could be drawn,
The entire court had watched and waited,
Enough the shallow arms,
Enough the shallow archs,
Enough the rotting justifications which have rust and noise brought the sacred sign on the hill itself; to a fallen beacon,
The people need a myth,
There was a time for heroes and villains,
That time no longer lives,
The nice believe their victory complete and villains showed their hands,
Too fast with arrogance and declarations,
We were given two hands for a reason;
To wear two gloves;
One white, one black,
To bring the fingers intwined to one clutch,
The mask no longer needed,
And the serpent wrapped the angel’s sword,
To win at any cost,
And the rot from the green was weeded,
~ LF