Zdzislaw Beksinski
The ferryman’s voice echoes in the mist
The waiting crowd gathers into a fist
Sheltering in the lee of the boathouse A-frame
Wrapped in a collective cloak of guilt and shame
Faces etched in copper and ferrous ache wrought
From judgement day to the lacklustre lessons taught
By the brass handles on the black casket shrouded
In a flag of fabricated lies by prejudice clouded
And Lucifer stands alone to one side
Unable to join the crowd nursing hurt pride
For who would listen to this ill-bred bearer of light?
What profits afforded for those who own the night?
To send forth those who have everything to lose
Those with hearts misled and unwilling to choose
Between the devil you know and the psychotic crews
Whose camouflage hides more than the magician’s cues
Poppies red blemish the chests of the mourners
Symbolism no measure for the world’s dirty corners
Where the cards are discarded hidden in plain view
Invisible to the many, a winning hand for the few
So the ferryman’s pole cuts an arrow in cold water
For departed marked crosses in the field of the slaughter
The crowd’s fist is torn by the falling widow’s cry
The mist knits a veil that blends with the sky
The ferryman’s voice echoes in the mist
The waiting crowd gathers into a fist
Sheltering in the lee of the boathouse A-frame
Wrapped in a collective cloak of guilt and shame
Faces etched in copper and ferrous ache wrought
From judgement day to the lacklustre lessons taught
By the brass handles on the black casket shrouded
In a flag of fabricated lies by prejudice clouded
And Lucifer stands alone to one side
Unable to join the crowd nursing hurt pride
For who would listen to this ill-bred bearer of light?
What profits afforded for those who own the night?
To send forth those who have everything to lose
Those with hearts misled and unwilling to choose
Between the devil you know and the psychotic crews
Whose camouflage hides more than the magician’s cues
Poppies red blemish the chests of the mourners
Symbolism no measure for the world’s dirty corners
Where the cards are discarded hidden in plain view
Invisible to the many, a winning hand for the few
So the ferryman’s pole cuts an arrow in cold water
For departed marked crosses in the field of the slaughter
The crowd’s fist is torn by the falling widow’s cry
The mist knits a veil that blends with the sky
10 comments:
Sadly there is much truth here.
"Between the devil you know and the psychotic crews.."
Wonderful description.
Ill bred being the principle crime against nature.
Very good, so so good, and so many truth said, like the one about lucifer that stands along no one's side
walking man: sadly
Jimmy: not a good place to be for sure
James: "crime against nature" may be taking it a bit far :)
Mariana: I read somewhere that the word Lucifer means 'bringer' of light and it was, at one time, used to describe Jesus
The "plague" cometh but still could not stem the tide of humanity, could it?
Wonderful description.
Since Lucifer stands alone to one side this piece sheds no light on its infinite darkness nor anything to take away but more dispair and the shadows it casts on the nutrality of nature.
subby: that's one way of looking at it
CherryPie: thanks!
Yodood: My use of lucifer here is kind of hard to explain: I was thinking of those of us who opposed the Iraq war from before it happened, often treated as if we were somehow traitors - hence the reference to bearers of light while being perceived as evil by those who see things in such monochrome clarity.
Exactly — and by being shoveled off to the side, eight dismal years ensued. Bringers of light are not the bearers of light, but the washers of darkened windows covered in bullshit, so the light within each may be shared freely with all.
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