Signs of violent times
Lines of hopeless people seeking the divine
The wicked triumphal, committing violent crimes
The blood, the blood, the veins, the vines
Rusted windvanes spin when the dim King arrives
Prideful by dint of dim gold
Thriving by dint of thinned tribe
Thinner and thinner as if they refused dinner
In these testing, trying times
Unwinding by rhyming, binding myself to a side
A house built strong and high, away from judging tides
Which Atlantis hides
Tents by millions wrought from animal hides
In every one a crook or spy
Belief subsides but never dies
Non stop sirens brush away silence
Two of Solon’s coins value my eyelids
The sacred few kneel by the pool
The guards close in, the youth
Runs and his linen cloth unspools
Running, naked fool; running, the naked fugitive
Nude beneath the moon casting Gethsemane in gloom
With a holy sword a guardsman;s ear is removed.
Alchemisland 
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