Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Not all is as it seems

The bloodied sword
raised high,
glints cruel above the slaughtered

Innocence reflected
in unforgiving steel;
to strike the blow
of passion,
cast reason
to the wind
and in the child’s
silenced screams
hear raw and
haunting dreams.

drawn asunder,
split Solomon’s
favoured child.
The soul is cast
to Hell’s domain,
upon the cross.

And yet
there comes a figure,
on angel’s feet
and wings,
who whispers:
‘Waken, Waken,’
not all is as it seems.

The cloud-laced moon
is smiling
into the bright
of night,
repeating and repeating,
‘Not all is as it seems.’

Believing is the secret
Of life,
Of death,
Of dreams.

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