The Speaker

"Lovers and heathens all of similar suit,
Come and dance, create this undefined rhythm
And we will celebrate the worlds end
with the birth of a dove,
wounded from it's own flight."

So as The Speaker proclaimed from hilltops on high
I watched as all stood, gathering like clouds
Casting the shadow of the darkest of ages,
Denigrating the speakers words and actions.

They marched to to him, with pitchforks and axes
And took up words unique to only themselves
To find that the words were useless against him.
Like beggars they ran to the feet of their gods
Fearing the speakers wrath would unjustly fall on them

Slacked-jawed amazement would scarcely define
The looks on their faces when their gods began to rust and fade
And they turned over the hourglass on their own lives.
Noise and unpeace was their world and tomb.

The Speaker was disturbed.
His people were empty shadows and shells
A glance to his own hourglass was given
Now, sold to the idea of a prophecy unfulfilled

Though his hour glass contained no sand
He turned it over, and watched the passion play
Of his own instruction
And writhed in his sleep at it's misery.

Now the hour was up, and sand had ceased to fall.
The Speaker covered his face, and began to dwell with his people.
Though His idenitity was obvious, His face was too kind
And His people were full of spite and called him out of his name.

In departing, he kissed the foreheads of every man, woman and child.
And left the ones who knealt with his knowledge.
Blessing them with a smile and tear, he tread back home
Enduring every lash of the words and weapons as he walked
Like a king praised by his enemy, and hated by his own.

"Lovers and heathens, all of similar suit,
Come and dance, create this undefined rhythm
And we will celebrate the world's renewal
like slaves free of their shackles."