Morning Glory

Morning Glory (for Barbara)




Evensong

Always when the third one
follows close beside me,
always when my ego
snakes its deadly venom
to a wicked pleasure
that evades the nexus
of a true redemption
in a waxing ghastly
night of black renewal,
of a fear that visits
with its evil horror
all the sinful pleasures
of the fire of Moloch
burning up our children,
then I know His blessing.

Always when the worldly
sirens of illusion
offer their enchantment,
offer me a music
rooted in a sneering
pose of smooth deception,
fashioned by a cabal
small within its logic,
but with monumental
greed and aspiration
to a voguish Babel,
to a central casting
lavish and romantic,
empty of all wisdom,
then I know His blessing.

Always when the hunger
of that creature sleeping
deep within my dreaming,
tragic, melancholic
in a twisted rapture,
mystery unraveled
from this web of reason,
and a magic blasted
by one nasty answer,
drains all my misfortune
on the stone of glory,
wasted seed that nurtures
nothing with its zero,
void and dead and barren,
then I know His blessing.

You were mine, but then you fled
on a day I wanted bread,
water for my arid soul,
dreams to fill my beggar's bowl.
You were mine, but then I paid
dues to him; I was afraid
of my unexamined life,
of your sacrificial knife.
You were mine, but then I spent
talent on my devil's rent
for a room where I could hide
with my false ungodly pride.
You were mine, but then alone
I was chained upon your stone,
on a night I cried for death,
for my final drunken breath.
You were mine, but you were gone
when the night gave birth to dawn,
when your sun arose to shine
on this world that is not mine.

One music in the fallen night
is all that I will ever make
to keep me from the waxing blight
that is the challenge of the snake.
A serpent whispered his way here.
He offered me a golden tree
alive with crystal apples clear
of her unsanctioned mystery.
I took her hand, I held her close;
I kissed her lips, I prayed that she
would be the one song in my heart
that sang with perfect clarity.
A serpent cursed my three good eyes.
He said with one I would not see,
he said with two I must reprise
each unseen awful vagary.
By music in the fallen night,
I took her body, it was mine;
I held her close, her eye was bright,
bright with the challenge of her vine.


Walpurgis Night

When the monster who has made me
in his image rank, infested
by his filthy corpus bleak and
in decay; when any fault was
mirrored through a glass that still is
tainted from the mouth of strangers,
tasted by the unclean in their
demon's rapture, in their manic
passion to unseat a victor
thirsty but forgiving, and his
shadow hunting each victim with
his reprisal, with his evil
weapons of greed and vanity;
then I know his foul unearthly
curse has fallen now into me.

When the monster who has taught me
where to hide my pleasure, how to
build a structure weak, fatally
doomed by cool distraction, logic
that is wanting faith, charity;
negative, defining past and
future blessings by a stigma
bloody, that remains infected
by the toxic apples of the
tree of knowledge, of my naked
guilty shameful piety; then
drought, disease, and fire, feeding
him his vile unholy banquet,
then I know his cruel and brutal
curse has fallen now into me.


When the monster who has guided
guilt and unrelenting sorrow
to a true and mortal burden,
to a vision that vacated
honor, love, and sacred light which
we must see; that burns the shadow
brightly into a mystery;
then I know his weapon, then I
see the question, then whatever
answer must become prophesy
of the coming glory of my
night of horror, of my secret
longing for a sweet redemption
from his curse that scatters wretched
fear, unhallowed by misery.

I was who you wanted when
love had died to you and then,
knowledge of all wrong and right
born upon Walpurgis Night.
I was who you wanted when
greed was given to all men,
money etched with image of
you instead of Noah's dove.
I was who you wanted when,
taking up my bloody pen,
made a song for father Cain,
who must kill and kill again.
I was who you wanted when
love had died to you and then,
shame replaced my innocence
with disease and pestilence.
I was who you wanted when
evil festered in all men,
good the glory thrice denied
by my false ungodly pride.

A silence that once set me free
to dream alone my wicked way,
to yield to fear, morbidity,
is now the promise of the day.
An angel gave her grace to mine.
She said that I must only know
what centers in the ripened vine,
what love must always tell and show.
I touched the hand she offered me,
so soft with life and tenderness,
so strong in faith and charity,
such comfort in this wilderness.
An angel blessed my talent shorn
of mockery and masquerade.
She said the scourge and bloody thorn
for only One was cruelly made.
A silence that once made me weep
between the night and rising day,
is now a quiet I must keep
to hold my angel close to me.


Morning Glory

When the Third One beckoned
with a light proceeding
from a girl whose beauty
rose beyond the carnal
images confusing
my night and its decay;
when the bloom was fastened
slow upon the stem and
held there by her fragile
force of strong and gentle
loving, by her tender
knowledge, wisdom softly
given in a whisper,
given without rancor,
then I know His blessing.

When the Second leaving
life behind His passion
brought the morning glory
bright upon our future,
gave me what was only
life and life alone, not
sanctity nor safety,
not wanton innocence;
never peace by number,
never strength by fraction,
nor luck in randomness
measured once by weighted
talents that must balance
failure, fear, and success;
then I know His blessing.

When the First commanded
me to build the fire,
and to burn my pages,
turn them all to ashes,
metaphoric dust of
temporary pleasure;
weeping for my children,
weeping for those victims
heaped upon the pyres
of our earthly triumph,
things that do not matter
to immortality;
then I know His wisdom,
then I know His power,
then I know His blessing.

You were Whom I wanted when
fear had made my bed and then,
turned my dreams to scattered swine,
turned my head and struck it blind.
You are Whom I named a price
to save me from artifice,
to take me with You alone,
as the beggar begs the throne.
You were Whom I wanted when
all my pride was wasted, spent
on an alchemy, whose prize
only toil and truth just buys.
You are Whom I denied thrice,
when the toll but taken twice,
rang the herald and the choir,
rang a heaven from this fire.
You were Whom I wanted when
time was stalled a time again,
day was held against the morn,
and the glory quiet born.


Coda

That music in the fallen night
soon became my soliloquy,
and internalized by fright,
the beast no one would ever see.

An angel sweet once came to me,
an angel gifted and alive,
she asked that I must only see
the river to its other side.

I took her hand, I prayed that she
would hold me close, and I would find
my twisted darkened destiny
that with the light must be entwined.

That music in the fallen night
which whispered in its gravity,
has taken to its wings in flight,
and taken all my fear from me.

An angel sweet once came to me,
she was so good and strong and kind,
she gave me bread and set me free,
she gave me sight where I was blind.

I took her hand, I prayed that she
would hold me close until the night
had quit its ghastly symphony,
until the morning turned to light.

That music in the fallen night
which kept my devil's harmony
alive in dreams and their delight,
is now a song of ecstasy.

He filled my heart, He made it right,
He showed the way to come to peace,
He gave His blessing that I might
now find my path to sweet release.

I took her hand, I prayed that she
would in her life forever find
the hope and joy she gave to me
when she first led me to the Vine