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You sailed in sky-high, with your speech askew
But marvellous, and talked like mad for hours,
Slamming and blessing; you transported us,
I'd never heard you talk so, and I knew—
Humbler and more proud—you each time undo
My kitcat but to cram it with these powers
You bare and bury; suddenly, late then, as
Your best 'burnt offering' took me back with you.

No jest but jostless truth!... I burn... am led
Burning to slaughter, passion like a sieve
Disbands my circling blood the priestess slights.
—'Remorse does not suit you at all' he said,
Rightly; but what he ragged, and might forgive,
I shook for, lawless, empty, without rights.


Submitted by Holt

Added: 1 Mar 2004 | Last Read: 2 Dec 2008 2:54 AM | Viewed: 1464 times

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