Dream #3

I sit in silence, 'twixt the vellum sheets of wisdom, streaks of felons
Sparked by surly certainty and set upon the moonlit door
Beauty glides across the chamber,
Laughing, twinkling, tasting danger,
Savored and entrancing in the brackish, baying ocean shore
Left alone to their devices, settled, sinning in their vices,
Her love, a dagger resting in my bedroom drawer

I tasted wisdom from a chalice that held my wounded merry malice,
A triumph held in irony and sent upon the dreamer's snore
Her glimmer breathes my discontent,
A psalm and lyre heaven-sent,
Sunken like the treasures of the pirates from the tales of yore
Lilies grow in groves of graves and in the homes of kings and knaves,
Their shadows cling and shun me as they dream, deplore

My lover and her silhouette are cast into a role to fret
Unto the playwright's waiting pen that the king does yet ignore
Poison pointing, pistols pouring,
Teeth and bullets still are soaring,
As the revolution sets a frenzied flame to fallow fields and more
The grass of peasants burns unpleasant, killing both the lark and pheasant,
For they were born of peace and are now dead of war