Waiting For…

By Elvira

Man                            is                                 three:
                                                                        child
                                                                        adult
                                                                        old,
                                    traveling         on        four
                                                                        two
                                                                        three
he                                navigates                    the
Given span:
                                                            of         evil      and
                                                            of                     good
                                    casting                        runes
                                                                        cards
                                                                        die,
                                    seeking                        past     and
                        future
he                    counts                                     sorcery
            as his                                                   playfellow, and
                                    asks                             for answers

The Holy text              may summon             the
            route               incarnating                 fulfillment
on flesh                       be cut:                         the Acts
                                                                                    behind
                                    is                                 what counts!
not chance of birth    or                                Sorcerer’s Imp
that                             washes                                    flesh in gold
                                                                        or gelt
arranges                                                          the Tableaux 

The script                    is
                                    written                                    in
Purest Flesh.

He                               was                              perfect,
yet,                              mingled                       with publicans
                                                                        and whose,
to                                let                                us        know, the die
                                    was cast,                     and, the Debt
                                    was                              his to
                                                            Pay.

Now,                                                               free, we
                                    walk,                           with flexicuffs
as        others             yell                              THEIR TRUTHS,
                                                                        are silent.
                                    so        “Stay!”
here
And here we               are,                              with tickets
                                    punched
                                    waiting                                    for the Ferryman
                                    knowing                                  not
if          the Boat                                              we Miss,
            was                                                      His.

March 22, 2011

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