Time After Time

I saw the news today,

a boy from another century

once had twin pistols

for his tiny, clean-nailed hands.

King of Rome at three!

He was the boy Aiglón,

a name from another century

coined by some writer

with his inky, hat-plume pen.

Such names were never heard.

 

I read a book today,

a tale from another century

writ by some scribbler

on his shiny, slick-keyed board,

'Age of Mud and Fleas'.

It had the King Mouldwarp,

a man of another century,

called by some 'Lover'

with his rounded, butcher's face.

Such love was undeserved.

 

I dreamed a dream today,

a day from another century

seen by this dabbler

in his tiny, slack-sieved mind.

Things that cannot be.

It was the last trumpet,

a tune from another century

played by none other

than the greatest, sweetest horn.

I felt like freedom's bird.

 

I crossed a bridge today:

in stone from another century

built by some landowner

for his smoke-clad, northern town,

Gates of Hell-by-Sea.

It was not my homeland,

a realm from another century

swept by only sand

on howling, djinn-called winds.

I know my place of birth.

 

I smelled a rose today,

a bloom from any century,

grown by one gardener,

in her verdant, green-sleeved plot,

where once she loved me.

It was not near heaven,

nor sheol of another century,

with dancing, fleck-eyed imps.

It is my final rest.

I lie in loamy earth.