Does your rib not bleed

upon the evil thought and deed

which perforates the tender skin

like a dagger of steel,

and sows its poison seed?

Does the willful sap

in ancient memory and current plea

frolic still in the garden of sleep

with blindfolds of faux amaranthe?

In meadows of lemongrass and chamomile,

in the imperious dome of make-belief

does the pendulum swing

at the mercy of the subtle winds.

And it is this, the giant of multifarious grieving,

which by percipient means stabs himself

and wonders why his pain is ceaseless,

and which by dulled eyes and hope

embraces the tango of the infinitely lost

to drown the torch which brings about

the reconciliation of all the ailments superimposed.

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

If foreign to the essence of the lover proves to be the hand that sews and closes the old skin that shudders; if by requisite of the tearing muse should come the ruse of the bittersweet hook which survives the age of consciousness; the blooded linen shall take after the viper, and redeem the unseen from the lust of heartbreak.

“Lazokar, Lazokar, let the empire rise.”

Deep within the Balkans

sits a crowned shadow –

eyes fathomless, the spirit of a warrior.

Wrought by the cruelty of a world lost to chains,

he has vowed to never be weak again.

~*~

Lazokar, Lazokar, no longer a slave.

Lazokar, Lazokar, his own sovereign.

Chilly spring brought the promise of a new horizon.

A daemon strange danced and sang in red lace.

A daemon strange evoked the taste of an old crave.

And she danced, and she said,

“Lazokar, Lazokar, let the empire rise”.

~*~

Deep within the Balkans

sits a crowned shadow –

eyes fathomless, the spirit of a warrior.

Holding the hand of a fiend of war,

the empire shall rise wise and energised.

Shrouded by dark that turns into light,

the king burns with faith renewed

in a world of made delight.

~*~

Daemon Red and Shadow Crowned orchestrate and pirouette.

In every breath, they sing and say,

“Let the empire take in upmost eminence”.

~*~

And if there were to come a time

when oblivion sieges the black sovereign,

the daemon fierce still will stand –

still will vocalise,

“Lazokar, Lazokar, let the empire rise”.

In soulful bane night,

the daemon red still shall slay the enemies of the crown –

spreading the venom of liberty for all frailty to chock down.