The Impoverished

If fire consume my waiting heart on every side
then we shall begin to dance.
If light were but a memory,
we’d never find our way back home.
It can’t be all dark in here,
elsewise we’d not know light when we perceived it.

I stand before you,
collected like the leaves of autumn
waiting in the winter wind
I am but a simple shadow,
writ upon a wall you’ve long forgotten
but nevertheless i stand,
a merry-making sentinel,
broken hearted and impoverished for your love

A different road might be recourse some other day
but today we’ve set our paths in stone and taken a step
onto the old roads
the highways of the old country.
I’m standing watch like highbeams,
peering out for another sign of life
that this seeking light might pass again into a friendly glow
but the journey is long, and the night needs vision

I’ll wait, but you’ll have to start again
when fire breaks out across the horizon
and pulls the Sons of Light across the sky in heated glory
wait till they sink into a watery home a ghost town under the waves
for us to light a fire, and summon storm clouds to be our witness.

The King’s highway stands graced by visions of falling hearts,
echoes ring in mushroom bells, lining the twilight path
with mandolins to court the heirs with joyous misery.

Sirens stand in the night pulling from the tattered walls
of their once joyous city, the eagle’s nest is rent asunder
and her vendetta is sinking into the lower depths
her children are breaking free from ruin
to cast themselves into the burning flame

Let fire fall on every side,
and weeping guide my rest
I stand with outstretched broken hands
impoverished for your love

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