Rabble-rouser you, prefect of dreams
What haggard image you saw
Was it unvarnished, was it awake
Tell me what hell you saw

You saw a thousand horsemen come
Like fires from hills below
They raged and burned, they slipped and turned
They knocked at your front door

Brandish then your sword, ingrate
When you march on a sunset shore
Smell wild-flowers in the rain again
Root-cause will morph you more

You’re a king of an ancient puerile fort
And a five-year locust cycle
Not a splash perturbs your rain-drenched streets
As you await your moth-eaten rival

A vagrant egotist, a blundering cynic
His voice has flickered once
“Eftsoons unhand me gray beard loon”
He grieves in deathless months

They wait for him his hollow sons
In pathways lined azure
What men of steel have passed him by
Arm-wrenched him, he endured

Cold, frenzied voices scream again
In a thread of logical thought
Persist deep down a red-brick well
With what grace the Lord hath wrought

I’ll speak no more, my lips are sealed
Forgive me fiery torch-bearer
We’ll ignore passing vagaries then
Wayward minds of a simple sea-farer

Free one day one morbid spring,
On a silver, cloudy night
Steel clashed again in marigold fields
Faces glistened in blood-light

What wilderness, what sleight of hand
When you see cold morning-dew
Ravenous springs of molten life
Are lonely, old and few

A knight on a white-winged horse appeared
A hundred streams away
They cowered to see his deadly mirth
But he’ll reign another day