The Song

This is the song so few rehearse
Locked away by a Dead Man’s curse
His name, “Blasphemy”; he is like a machine
Governing eyes stained in green.

This song - the bells so oft repeat -
Drowns in the drones’ marching feet.
Shoving it down to the ocean floor
Shattering the key to the cage’s door

Call the locksmith to forge a replica
Here, oh hearers, is the Divine Basilica
Paths buried ‘neath dead leaves of time
Take the broom; unveil the song sublime

The mighty beast shakes his iron fist
Stands amidst the crowd and a dark dense mist
Division bleeds from the depth of his lungs
He is praised as some deliverer by obeisant tongues

Tongues wave like flags so proud and sure
Souls shaken in fear by beguiling hearts impure
They speak of things they misunderstand
"Scholars are we”, they apprehend.

Pages of ink fill up the sky
Ears are swayed by the lullaby
Minds diverted fall on distractions
Unfolding an infinite array of factions.

The song never ceases but rarely is heard
Unless it is whispered by some passing bird
Only remnants are remembered so you must listen well
Fragments together form one ancient shell

As we drew nigh, the ferry man said.
"Come out! Come out! Be not afraid."
The song was hesitant; a little shy
I said, "Come" with open arms high

"So deep have I swam; my lungs are at stake
This ferryman must return for other souls' sake"
I took the key forged by the bruised hand
Opened the cage which dissolved into sand

And there it was; still and full of strength
What could contain it's depth, it's length?
My lungs collapsed; everything faded dark
Next thing I saw? A little lark.

Sitting on my chest as I lie upon the shore
Singing all the songs I've ever known before
But within them all was something new
Something they tried to say that has always been true.