“Architect and Executioner”

I wrote this as a result of a very cathartic experience from last night. It’s so littered with coded language that most could barely call this coherent.

Enjoy! …or try to.

“Architect and Executioner”

‘Twas a boiling summer eve’,
No breeze to sway and to deceive
The faithless plains of the mundane,
The seething songs of the insane,
Paltry toils of small insects –
Waking dreams of architects.

In the corner of the room,
The bride stood silent in her tomb.
Though silent she may have been,
Her beauty did not go unseen;
In a daze did she reflect
The image of the Architect;
And took he forth his lover mute,
That suave and curvaceous lute,
To a place of sacred gazes,
Thirstful eyes and smiling faces,
Where she would be glorified,
Greeted as an honoured bride;
And choirs of cherubs and seraphs
Glowed like embers in a hearth;
Hearts beat closer, warmer, faster
To the web-spin of the Master.

‘Mongst the clamour of the halls
Crowded by the tow’ring walls,
One soul swelled forth with the tide
Following the sacred bride,
He rose above the hazy smoke;
And strange things he dared invoke:
He told tales of wolves and swines,
Lands of chaos, seas of wine;
And he spoke of loving home,
Of severed heads and cracking bone,
The haunting sixty cursed years,
He spoke of love, he spoke of fears.

The Architect did scoff and snicker
At the ramblings of the vicar:
“Art thee but a prisoner
Bathing in the listeners?
Art thee ‘nother Lucifer,
Or just Executioner?”

So the man before the storm
Shifted into liquid form;
And dark waters did reflect
The image of the Architect;
And without moving his lips,
As a strange verbal eclipse,
The image spoke familiar tune,
Drowning the entire room:
“Architect without a name,
Shouldn’t I ask you the same?”


This entry was posted in "Poems".

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