Saturday, 17 June 2017

What Love Remains?

Though the spires and mosaics
May reverberate the psalms of love
With zeal and charisma
It is pounded from the pulpit
Souls in solitude
Squinting in the candle light
Near blind before sacred transcription complete
What remains of this love
For him huddled in the darkness
Waging war with the spectres of psychosis
Conflicted prayers ring out
For the long-awaited grip of the reaper
Or at least an able dose
To ward off the clammy embrace of seizures
Once the tenor
Adored at the local
With a voice
Like velvet fog
The memory of him is warmly embraced
His presence, no longer welcome
He no longer cared
That the story
Of Monday's salvation
Was a lie that even he didn't believe anymore
He'd told that arrogant baboon of a bouncer
Down at Finnegan's
If you put those stinking paws of yours on me again
I'll make you pay....
True to his word
The fateful day came
He hit him in the mouth with a bottle
Then stuck the broken remains in his chest
I told you ... you big bastard
Laughing out loud
As he pulled the covers
Of night sky and delusional over himself
He is son, brother and father
But who will love him now?

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