Regardless of our presiding congress
of victor man, and thoughts unbound
flagfallen is that white of progress,
viridescent hall in conquer found.
Hath O babylon eastern promise
come thou burning from yon Babel,
Hath thou aired suffice thy solace
solace for whilst thou air’d a fable.
Heed my words ye crumbling throne
thou wer’t not birthened to condone,
instead for sins of past atone
and honor wounds of wars unknown.
For nations many thrive some whither
flags of fathers rise then fall
but ye my wounded land of hither
thou wert sworn for just and all.
Embrace yet not these words but words
of better men, of bitter wisdom
as all professed else is absurd
and thoughts thus kept are kept anthems.

Pray, would it be much to hunger
for absolution, taste of clemency
Speak, for regrets tear asunder
ignorant faults from thoughtful pity.
Lo! A Wasteland we turned thou to
In legacy false, of prospect gloom
and starved hath We thy faith in few
and fewer days in an age of bloom.

Valley of Blood and Henna

Scarlet I must always turn to
scarlet of burnt summer eves,
golden flakes of passive heaves
dirt and dust which redden hue
of wine’ful taste, scent’est henna
unto’ich spake the flowers of war,
naught a reason they grew for
but which due I dub them scilla.
Drunk on fallen dew their’s yonder,
memory mine is tempt to wander
far from this sweet valley Wana
fragrant as deep scarlet henna.
Passing I must always turn to
passing suns in mournful too,
fading fragrance with each noon,
to Hearkened dark, O! come thee soon.
Of where to has trodden darling
and where hath joy trodden to,
scent no more, no more of parting
henna burning summers through.

Searching For The Rider Pale

No more a fragrance to this dirt,
nor left a memory in its breath,
far and further as the roaming
takes me from my tree of birth.
Ashen turns the hue each walking
step thus taken in my search,
until I fear from with that grey
shall turn the pallor of my day.
Of that which I hope with yearn
know I not the least its fate,
but do I fear too it shall turn,
I shall too fear the pale one great.

Obliging Innocence

How canst thou oblige true essence,
truer in compare to fewer
virtues iridescence truer
than the white in blackest hue,
to fall selflessly in thy lieu,
How canst thy memory remnant
of the days of wholly splendour
harken that so aft an fore,
days of yon, suns of yore,
reminiscence felt no more,
Velvet curtains in the winding
cadence of thy fleeting dreams
whether of the moments passing
or those past in parting seams,
Innocence, virtue no longer
Innocence, a sight unseen
of dust a’dust, yet ash a monger
settles ‘pon thy weary means,
with which thou deign living lies
though ‘pon that living swore undo,
didst thou not in lieu of die
breathe in innocence untrue,
Wert we not as infants are thus
mindful of etiquette most feigned
Art we not as infants are thus
obliging innocence as deigned.

The Great Divide

By far there is no distance greater
than twixt the hand of man and God,
nor come to pass each askance later
moments sans a faithful nod.
By far there is no deed as honest
as the act of leaping blind,
nor ceases much such self admonish
from when an absence must will I find.
I hope the sky does fade in hue,
each noon and night I pray to you,
when to dark and when to light,
I dream awakened of that sight.
By far there is no moment better,
nor is by far a place as Holy
as the soul that bears your letter,
or a soul when burdened sorely.
By far there is no dust or dirt,
by far no clay is just as worthy,
as the one outworn from birth
or one thus worn in your reverie.
Kaaba, Aqsa, Hagia, Makkah,
pray I nay in their prostration,
Lord, Saviour, Highness, Allah,
thou art worth this exaltation.
No more shalt I serve in thy honor
words I fear may displease thee,
for as a mortal but am a fawner
I fall from grace but thou agree.