|
'Tis The Gentle Of This Knight A'Calling
Rage, rage against the dying of the light
The deus ex machina in the eye of natural sight
The center of the storm in a world of unusual fright:
Humanity attaining the eternal promise of freedom
Freedom. Fly!
Quoting scripture
Ephemeral picture
Of potent redemption… Freedom fly
Like dust from the fairy’s stick,
Her shtick the spiel that legends are made of
And unicorns with gossamer wings
Thrive for: liberty, liberation, emancipation
From the cold of woman’s wrath,
From the bold of hurricane’s fury
From the fold of cowards chastised grasp…
Freedom. Fly!
Rage, rage against the plight of the dying:
The imperial woe… The mighty of the maimed lion
Is naught without The Master’s steady gentle plying
Of sensational touch (supple, subtle like satin)
Healing. Freedom. Fly!
‘Tis the gentle of this knight a’ calling.
Copyright © 2005 Jacquii Cooke |
