Still A Friend

the Reich came and found me still a friend
to those who listen, the few who read
the many words i pack between
the pages once left clean.
slowly diversify the birdsong in may,
a magic trick in the light of day,
an open air palladium loaded full for two minutes hate,
doublethinking to Utopia.

amazed now by the lady born in black,
she breathes the moonlight, speaks the sea,
but, like the signs God sends to me,
this night will not repeat.
quickly commit to print the song of the lark,
this fading, improvised work of art,
this clarified revision of living peace to tear a dream apart,
giving peace a chance despite the past.

a loose cannon blasting out a path
to lands uncrowded, an earth still chaste
where useless dogma is replaced
with truth revealing page.
hardly believing that the king lies entombed,
a rock hard corpse in a stone cold room,
a silent crematorium loaded full for hate minutes two,
incinerating his majesty.
deleted deleted
Sep 16, 2012