Ode to The Fisher King

 

     I stood amongst them

While they waltzed in pairs,

Shying my eyes from Soldier Friends,

I stood amongst them filled

With pride,

Mister Williams tending

All my quarrelled heart.

 

I stood amongst them

While the clock never moved

And bruised,

I nurture my nature

Back from its death,

Central Station –

New York Times;

The concerto plays -

A merry haze.

 

Naked,

Butt naked like

My day of birth for all to see

But none would laugh,

Only smiles and gratitude

As tears bled from my sunken eyes,

And everybody danced

 

And there became my Holy Grail

Within the palms of Indian Chiefs,-

Begging I form the courage

Of The Fisher King

To drink the liquid

That’ll chase ‘them’ back.

 

I turn away,

Turn away the fantasy of America

For in truth – my purgatory’s

Not born of their shores

And I’m heading back

To cease the demons

From their being,

And kill them just,

Remove them from my

Tortured scar,

 

     I stood amongst them

I danced within them

And without them

And watching all with

Saintly ease

I took the clock a noted hour,

And promised the Fisher King,

That I’d return.

 

Michael J Waite 6^th June 2012.