Languid blood.
Lost history
Sat clutching clumped hairs,
Figuring swigging.
At an empty goblet.
Clueless.
Lusty were his swigs. Who was the martyr,
the hero, the knight, the king or that star
that saw me tonight? From a million years
ago in time.
Looking for the past, follow now, see all
A bright knock on the door
A voice rang a bell
Sleepily history answered
A baby nestled thorn leaves white roses
cloistered the babe.
He came from the woods.
Night held silence.
Published in Daily Times, April 12th 2018.
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