Oliver Benjamin
So curse your kings and emperors,
She said, those thrones whose bloody wars,
Divide the earth
‘Long arbitrary lines.
They scar me till I’m fallow,
Send whole races to the gallow.
The fault is theirs, my precious child,
Not mine.
So I stormed the castle of the king,
The one who split up everything.
He let this stranger
Accuse him and opine,
But argued, his protection
‘Gainst savage predilection
Allowed the growth
Of culture and of mind.
Lay the blame upon your muse,
He said, that liquor so abused,
That to drink her
Men would tear their eyes out blind,
Curse their fellow man,
Lay waste upon the land,
The fault indeed is hers,
Good sir, not mine.
At last we came together,
My soul upon this treasure,
This music resolution
To a rhyme,
But she was cryptic so I cleaved her.
I cut her and bereaved her.
The earth tore open,
Flooded dark with brine.
Our rift was deep and storied,
Mountains laid ungloried,
I pulled her into echo
And decline,
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