Constantine’s Cross-II

by Elivira

The death rattle

The smell of fetid flesh

Darkness light by pagan candles

            Murmers of hushed voices,

                        Begging for redemption

A figure on a cot,

                        Grasping at phantom of evil and

                                                            Good

                                                Past

A cough. A rattle.

            Such an emperor brought to a slaves level!

A light no star, but     THAT medieval convention

                        Appearing before its time.

It forever haunted dreams since the wars.

The old priest implores          for the holy oil

                        Promising       to forever wash

The blood off hands.

But, can it                   STOP  the screams?!

A shepherd pipes:       A sweet tune, once a

                                    Pagan fairy dance, now a

                        Hidden command to enter a light

Who has passed?  Not the emperor, he still breathes.

Is Zeus still Zeus, or is he Jehovah (Yah-hovah)

            Legions march

            Drums tattle

            Eagles wave                in the wind

Who whispers, now?

What is that odor?

            Only spicy, sickly incense

                        With which the new Pharisees

            Hide death

A cup of wine             should do the trick

They say Alexander Magnus

                                    Died without issue

            But now that role is brimming!

“Come, old priest!”

“Do your magic!”

            (for the heart no longer fells pain, and

                        Darkness bekons!)

“Yes!”

“Yes!”

“Yes!”  (for it matters not that hundreds

                        Have been murdered,…as long as

                        We run not out of holy oil!) 

The death rattle

The smell of fetid flesh

Darkness light by pagan candles

            Murmers of hushed voices,

                        Begging for redemption

A figure on a cot,

                        Grasping at phantom of evil and

                                                            Good

                                                Past

A cough. A rattle.

            Such an emperor brought to a slaves level!

A light no star, but     THAT medieval convention

                        Appearing before its time.

It forever haunted dreams since the wars.

The old priest  implores          for the holy oil

                        Promising       to forever wash

The blood off hands.

But, can it                   STOP  the screams?!

A shepherd pipes:       A sweet tune, once a

                                    Pagan fairy dance, now a

                        Hidden command to enter a light

Who has passed?  Not the emperor, he still breathes.

Is Zeus still Zeus, or is he Jehovah (Yah-hovah)

            Legions march

            Drums tattle

            Eagles wave                in the wind

Who whispers, now?

What is that odor?

            Only spicy, sickly incense

                        With which the new Pharisees

            Hide death

A cup of wine             should do the trick

They say Alexander Magnus

                                    Died without issue

            But now that role is brimming!

“Come, old priest!”

“Do your magic!”

            (for the heart no longer fells pain, and

                        Darkness bekons!)

“Yes!”

“Yes!”

“Yes!”  (for it matters not that hundreds

                        Have been murdered,…as long as

                        We run not out of holy oil!)

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