THE PALL
in an ancient language buried
by a Bible built for two
a thousand Sundays carried
the mystery of You
pushed by those who pull
free of confessed strife
over the eyes of solid wool
cut by words to twist the knife
in an ancient language kept
secrets in plain sight
stress to hurry overslept
outside overnight
pushed by what i’ve done
pulled back into the shade
provided by the one
marching in no one’s parade
an ancient language read
to masters of their young
a life no one should dread
bitten by forked tongues
i wish for them the best
of what’s left over now
no journey is a quest
all three gods will allow
an ancient language spoken
at sermons on each mount
promises made broken
in pieces no one counts
long after i fade to black
the face of ghosts turn white
hearts only attack
when they run towards the light
an ancient language listens
to every prayer you sing
the cheeks of carolers glisten
that the memory of you brings
the touch of your
i will forever miss
i give back to the land
all i failed to resist
i see you on the beach
about to get married
your hand i cannot reach
from where your ancient language buried
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