Weeping Sores

His fever set in swiftly In the months when the winds grow cold And the healers’ spells fell feeble So briefly ensouled, then consigned to mold I clutch the shell which once was our son In hopes that our God may restore him to me I bear the husk which once was our son That one day this wrong may be reversed for thee What sin hath we trespassed That earned us this terrible blow In the eyes of Heaven, some transgression Avenged here below, our child for the crows I clutch the shell which once was our son In hopes that our God may restore him to me I bear the husk which once was our son That one day this wrong may be reversed for thee Thus is the nature of faith To suffer in silence ornate While our prayers seek to audit fate That breath may once more his breast consecrate So long shall we wait I saw the light drain from his eyes

How long have we wandered in this wasted land How many generations quickened in this womb of sand In gardens of stone we have made our home It is all that we know, all we have known Since time forgotten by mortal men All our years, we have crouched in the dust Whilst the wind thickens our skin Spared the knowledge required to dream Of a different land, verdant and green How long have we wandered in this wasted land How many generations quickened in this womb of sand By sweat we are cleansed of our weakness By patience we fulfill the ancient promise From the pain of living we take clarity From wail of the dunes we learn simplicity God has shown us the truths that hide Behind the glare of the blue marble sky Pity us not For we protest naught Of the torments we endure ‘Tis divine to accept our lot How long have we wandered in this wasted land How many generations quickened in this womb of sand

Out of mercy, they let me live On the outskirts, and permit The theft of their refuse and scraps For it cleanses the soul to forgive An object of pity But still they heed me For lodged in my hobbled mind A fragment of shadowed divinity And though they lie beyond my ken My tongue traces those strange shapes, when The hand from beyond the veil Commands: “Speak, and let them in” And so they fear me For this, my duty I live as a beast of the field But my palsies sound the depths of infinity The bodiless immanence Its words burn in me Its presence is agony I am in agony

The courage of the coward Is greater than all others A scaredy cat can scratch you If you back him into a corner But I am a coward Courage born of despair and impotence Submissive dogs can lash out And be very dangerous But I am a coward