prince of peace or monster impostor politics....david
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the tunic of peace
Naking knightly on this orphaned earth-striped to atonement…
No proverbial bed of nails for me…
Might a bed of finest needles also comfort thee…
Perceptive piercing pining needles warm, warn, warp, wrap
My war-torn battered, flattered, scattered, tattered
Airs, cares and prayers…
In the ides and tides of august august a light blanket, a coveted cover,
A guiltless quilt of stars rivals, reveals, rouses, resurrects
My oft lonely soul while a loon sings soliloquies to the crescent moon,
Neighboring venus' brilliant, flawless armor is a trilingual triumph:
Amour, amor and love…
Akin to votive candles, the punctured skylights pull aweigh nights' doubts,
Fears and tears, while bands, choirs, choruses, orchestras and symphonies
Of meteors fall, to expire…
In acadia's awe-filled breadth lifeness is an ample breath, to inspire,
The relation of all beings one to another…
Many cinders and sinners settle as burnt out, exhausted prophets,
Signals, signatures perchance to cremation and a new creation…
Aren't air, water, earth and fire ancient elements of the alchemist's desire…
Might I be a phoenix, an asteroidean android, the little prince returned…
Sentenced to life, sentenced to death-both terms indeterminate…
While my body sleeps, nature my nature nurtures and keeps,
On an astral loom far from doom admired, inquired, required peace
Quivers, shivers and quakes…
Peace weaves but never wavers, making no mistakes in my seamless tunic…
Shameless, bareheaded, bare-bodied, barefooted, i loose all worries,
Soonest i lose even the selfness of summers' subtlety,
Surrendering all awe to winters' flurries of fantasy,
With phantoms shining light into my dark inter-sessions…
With every daunting dawn, dazzling daze appear,
I am addressed, clothed, dressed, redressed, robed in the tunic of peace.
By david inkey, 8/9/04, the UN poet
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and this PRICELESS PEACE.......with inflation.....
I claimed only to be a Prince of Peace,
I claimed only to be a Prince of Peace,
The crown you made for me you found on the ground,
A vine with many thorns,
It fell softly on the moss, as you raised me on the Cross,
It fell as I descended into Hell…
A simple thing,
You thought I claimed to be a king,
With great glee, you did mock me,
To wound my spirit divine,
You were most cruel, devilishly unkind…
I claimed only to be a Prince of Peace,
You didn't understand my hand,
It was raised in praise, in Love,
Satan knew I only held a dove,
Why did you think I might need a crown…
122103, afterthoughts from handel's messiah…part one…
