Conflict and Grace

 It burst’s forth, half formed, within the wail of a winding gale.

A claw, a clog, a minor part of this turbulent thunderstorm.

Where it rest, led my spittle mouth begging for an end to  it all.

My Grandfather bore that name, an’ in the shaded fiddlers gaze

He said that this wormwood storm would be on the rise again.

From the distance I watched the hunter hiding in the bush

Wearing in is wealthy camouflage, to hide his viscous sabotage.

With his cold eyes and his alligator smile  he slowly  slides out;

Then, without a single  thought, he calls   in for the last  attack

By eating the hand that with frenzy , forever feeds the mouth.

Now with dead eyes his congregation  slowly devours the flock

While he sits back and with an earnest heart rich bellows laughs

At the melody chaos that his words and through that actions bring

The bloodied corpses  fill  the broken  streets  and  children weep

While  It is the fleeting mere monetary gain that he now will reap.

 He mocks their slow screaming aching limbs that are fighting   

Climbing up the floor of the dilapidated dark hospital corridor

Towards the inevitable a terminal diagnosis . A 2.2 malignancy

That grows from a tiny lump in the gut towards the gallows pole

That stands atop:  upon an altar of blood stones  and black opals.

But from the conflict that urges ardent bends to terrible prayer;

I sense  her softly  spoken  tender voice, and her gentle  care .

I pause in the sense of her; I relish in the taste of her; I long

To see the true face of her;  an’  plunge  through her velvet  hair.

So  to fly in fulfilment’s charm  and be free of all physical harm,

To thread these words w’in a sacred charm and set me on my way.

For freedom is a sacred thing that money  just can never  buy

It  breeches soul gates and the  certitudes of  people rushing  by

To leave a soft and warm wet  kiss that will ne’re  be  missed

But mused  upon from that moment  to this:  until the end of time.

Peace be with you

© adh2015